Loretta Jane and the Twilight Zone
by vortexFM
Summary: Loretta Jane Swan. Ed. Etta. LJ. Lor. Lora. Retta. Janie. Not Bella, never Bella - there is no Bella. She is here all the same. Charlie-Dad and Renee-Mom, but no Bella. Beautiful Forks, shitty vampires, small town gossip, but no Bella. Just Loretta, her memories, and a million unanswered questions.
1. Chapter 1

Have you ever tried _not_ to think about something? To purposefully shove something out of your head and then keep it out, consistently, for days and days at a time? Not even days, hours? A minute? A second? It's impossible. To consciously _not_ think of something you had to, in the same moment, be aware of the thing you _weren't_ thinking about. Which obviously meant you were thinking about it. You can't forget something on purpose, because the decision to forget something is a _decision._ To make a decision you have to _think._ Maybe it crosses your mind in a split-second, or it flits by in the background with barely a passing wave, but you _decided_ to _make_ the _decision_ and you cannot _not_ be aware of something you intend to do.

Ergo, the entire thing was an exercise in futility. Of course, that didn't stop me from trying. It didn't stop me from succeeding, either. Alright, maybe succeed was a bit too strong of a word, but I managed to find a bit of a loophole and work through the issue like that. After all, I said it was impossible.

My loophole? Two completely separate trains of thought, running simultaneously in my head all the time. Which, knowing what I do about the brain, is also impossible, but it's the closest I can get to a description that even somewhat matches what I have going on up on there. It was a pain to figure the system out, and I actually gave myself daily headaches during the first few years of practice, but I'd managed to get one train to move in words while the other moved along in feelings and impressions. The big question, though, is why I would bother.

Two words, my friends; mind readers.

For what felt like the hundredth time that day I lamented the situation I found myself in. At the same time, though, I was horribly excited. If I were right, and the last seventeen years had yet to prove me wrong, the Plot was about to begin. So I sat in the surprisingly plush cushions of economy class on my WestJet flight to Washington. I stared out over the clouds, since someone had bailed last minute and left the window seat unoccupied, and I tried very hard to sort out exactly how I was meant to feel.

Joan, the kind twenty-something on my left, had spent the first half hour of the trip offering me pieces of gum and gushing about how much she loved Port Angeles. Which wasn't a surprise, really. I loved it too. Not Port Angeles, specifically, but my dad's town. It was cool and green, with a beach close by and a cute diner with great cobbler, so my problem wasn't the location. It was the Plot.

I blew a small, grape flavoured bubble (courtesy of Joan) and quietly snapped it between my teeth. Only a few more minutes before we were supposed to land, I guessed, just based off my watch. Dad would be waiting at the airport, all moustache and unassuming sarcasm, and then we'd drive off to Forks in his cop car. Then I'd set up my room, go to sleep on my galaxy themed bed set, and drive the truck I would probably be getting to my new high school where I'd be treated like a zoo animal for the next month and a half.

See, if I were where I was meant to be, all of this would be sending alarm bells off in people's heads. Forks? Chief dad? High school and a rustic, orange pickup truck? Klaxons and Kill Bill sirens blaring 24/7. However, I'm not where I'm meant to be. I figured that one out about thirteen years ago, when I started kindergarten and met a little girl named Angela who really hated a little boy named Mike.

Of course, that hadn't been my first hint, if it hadn't been last in a long line of horrible realizations I doubt I'd even remember those names were important, but it had tied everything together in a nice little bow. Especially since my parents started arguing a lot that same year, and anyone could see they were on the verge of divorce.

Confused? I know I was. Whatever, I'm talking to myself here, but the point is I need to deal with all this shit somehow. What shit? I'm living in Twilight. See, that wouldn't make any sense to anyone here, not only because it's only just now 2005, but because there is no woman alive named Stephenie Meyer. Okay, maybe there is, but she's not an English major with a dream about a magic meadow full of vampires.

The flight attendant then picked up the intercom phone and said, "We are approaching William R Fairchild International Airport. The seatbelt sign is now lit. Please fasten your seatbelts and make sure your belongings are secured as we prepare for descent."

Thank God, I didn't think I could handle sitting down and stewing in foreknowledge any longer. I slipped my Nintendo DS and game case into the front pocket of my backpack, making sure that my travel wipes and kleenex didn't fall out in the process, then zipped everything back up and sat it on my lap. I really liked the stupid thing, the backpack, it was striped black and white with silver and gold studs on it. I know, it sounded ridiculous and edgy and a bit too try-hard, but that was one of the best things about 2005 – all of that stuff wasn't laughed or cringed at, it was a legitimate niche style. I could walk into a Hot Topic without seeing stolen fanart plastered all over cheap tee-shirts or those annoying little Funko Pop figures lining the walls.

"Hey, hey Joan?" I shook the girl next to me, "We're landing soon, you gotta get up."

She made some muffled, half-shriek sound as she jerked awake, platinum blonde hair falling in her face when she thanked me and quickly snapped her own seatbelt together. I'd gotten her phone number earlier in the flight because I figured I needed to know some new people in my new area, she'd scrawled it on the back of a gum wrapper with a pencil stub and I'd shoved it in my bra for safe keeping. Yes, I could've put it in my pants pocket, but I always forgot stuff in there; if it was poking into my tit I definitely wouldn't throw it accidentally in the washing machine.

The plane bounced a little and the tires screeched as we touched down on the runway. God, I could do this, I could definitely do this. It was time to say goodbye to the prologue and say hello to Charlie Swan in the airport, where he would drive us back to a town I'd visited every summer yet hadn't truly lived in since I was twelve. We'd drive into Forks, Washington and pull into the driveway of my old family home, the soft-looking two-storey building that backed onto the woods that would one day be full of motherfucking werewolves. I'd go to school and meet the Inciting Incident, the Cullens, and I'd have to somehow avoid their mind-reading and emotion-altering and future-seeing vampire magic.

Obviously, everything was going to go great.

* * *

I sat in the passenger seat of dad's cop car, ankles crossed in the footwell since I couldn't tuck my leg up under myself while we were driving, and danced my hand out the window to the rhythm of the song on the radio. I smiled softly, it was fun to let the wind jerk my wrist up and down and to feel the damp, cold air of Forks seep into my skin.

"I wish you wouldn't do that, Etta," Dad, Charlie-Dad, said, "You're gonna whack your arm off on a tree branch or something."

I laughed and shot him a wry look with a shake of my head, "I'm keeping an eye peeled up ahead, Dad, don't worry so much."

His raised brow and pointed look at our surroundings startled a snort out of me. Yeah, cop, worrying was his job, alright, but I knew I won when he let out a put-upon sigh, "Happy to have you back, kiddo."  
"I've missed living up here with you," I tuck my arm back into the car, "I mean, Arizona is fun and stuff, and I love Mom, obviously, but Forks is home y'know?"

Unlike a certain Bella, who had it the other way around, I'd lived with Dad in Forks until the end of grade seven and visited Mom in the summers. There were a lot of little changes like that, actually, which threw my whole situation even further into the dark. How was I supposed to cross reference my new life with a young-adult novel if my life kept diverging from canon? Minor canon, but still canon.

Some things were so little they hardly seemed to matter, like Charlie Swan having a beard to go with his weirdly iconic moustache. Others, though, were like the home thing; Mom and Dad hadn't even divorced when they were meant to. I'm almost certain Renee disappeared one night with a four year old Bella under arm. Here? In real life? It didn't happen until I was in the fourth grade. The signs had been there for a long time, arguments and cold shoulders, little frustrations, but there was no horrible blow up that sent them careening apart.

Dad smiled a bit at my admission, though I probably wasn't meant to see it, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

The sky peeled back a little and began spitting teeny raindrops onto the windshield. Luckily, I could already see our driveway, so when the clouds cracked open utterly and let loose a thunderstorm it only took a minute to pull up in front of the house.

I'd forgotten how it had been described in the book, so there were no uncomfortable comparisons to draw to what this life should've been. For all I knew, it was the exact same cottage-y, off-white as my own. I hoped not.

I hitched my backpack over my arm and darted out of the cruiser, doing my best to weave around the downpour in the direction of the porch. It wasn't until I was standing, soaked, under the overhang that I noticed Dad wasn't behind me. Instead of following, he was rooting around in the trunk for my suitcases.

"Dad, no!" I laughed, "I'll get 'em later. You're gonna drown!"

"Too late," He replied, one bag propped on his shoulder and the handles of the other in his hand. Did he mean 'too late, I'm already drowning' or 'too late, I'm already getting your shit'? Judging from the look on his face, one part annoyed, two parts amused, I think it was both.

I went over, because fuck the rain, I was wet anyway, and held out my arms for the case that was probably digging into his neck at that point. I was shorter, Here, than I had been Back There. I used to scrape the underside of 5'11'' with frizzy brown curls, but over Here in the Twilight Zone I was barely 5'6''.

He carefully dropped the bag into my waiting hands and, with that all finally sorted, I went back over to unlock the door and let us into the foyer. Everything looked exactly as I remembered, from living it as opposed to reading it. Though I hadn't been away that long, after moving in with Mom I'd come back for a month or two every summer, but seeing the whole house unchanged still triggered a bit of nostalgic fondness. It was the good type of nostalgia. The bad type was that which I felt about my old life, and when that reared its ugly head I was shit outta luck, because I had no way to get back.

I gestured for Dad to hand me the other case, but he shook his head and said, "Nuh-uh, I got it."

I grinned and rolled my eyes, "Thanks."

The old wood of the floorboards creaked a little under our weight as we headed into the upstairs hall, and we stopped before my bedroom door. It was closed, though I knew he wouldn't have changed anything since my last visit in August. There were scuff marks along the bottom that trailed over to the walls, I couldn't remember exactly but I thought it might've been from when I played soccer in elementary school; I'd practised in the house for a while until Dad noticed and told me off.

Hung from a nail right at my eye level was a hand-painted sign with my name, Loretta, in sparkly green bubble letters on a soft pink background. If I squinted, I could see pencil marks from where I'd first sketched a rainbow before I decided that would look too cluttered. Renee-Mom and I made it together during one of my summer visits pretty soon after she'd shacked up in Arizona.

The name was one of the things that tripped me up, actually. You'd think I'd be Isabella Marie, but no, they called me Loretta Jane. That difference had been something I'd clung to, in the early years – there wouldn't be a Twilight without a Bella. So if I weren't Bella, and I didn't have a sibling or a cousin or an aunt-thrice-removed named Bella, I was obviously just living a ridiculous coincidence. There were a lot of little things I'd clung to, to try and escape what I came to know I was stuck in.

When I opened the door I could see dust dancing along the fingers of light coming in through my cream linen curtains. I was going to have to go over all the furniture with duster or a kleenex or something, just so the dust bunnies didn't rise up in the night to overthrow me.

"You okay if dinner's a frozen pizza?" Dad asked.

"Sounds good to me."

He nodded and set the suitcase down inside the doorway up against the wall, then stopped. It looked to me like he was considering something, and then it clicked in my head. No matter the completely different relationship I had with the man, Charlie Swan was still eighteen different kinds of awkward.

"Hug!" I bounced towards him on my tippy toes and wrapped my arms around his middle. That face either meant he was about to go for some father-daughter affection or my goldfish died, and since I no longer had a goldfish I was pretty sure a hug was what he was aiming for, "I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, kiddo."

I disentangled myself from the embrace after a minute and watched as he inched towards the door, "Don't forget to take the plastic off."

"That was one time!"

We both laughed, and he gave a half wave before disappearing down the hallway. I heard the soft pit-pat of his sock-feet on the stairs, waiting for the sound to fade into the kitchen before allowing myself a deep sigh. Though I often failed, I did try to keep my reminiscing to nighttime hours only. Yet, Charlie-Dad was so much like... _my_ Dad. I'd come to terms with it but it never really stopped aching, not when it was shoved in my face with little quirks and interactions that made them seem like twins.

I blew a raspberry. Enough of that.

My room, as anticipated, was exactly as I'd left it five months ago. A double bed covered by a nebula duvet, courtesy many screen-printing trials and errors, and held by a wrought-iron frame was pushed against the wall underneath the window. Next to it was a deep brown nightstand with a single drawer. On the wall to the right of the doorway was a small inset closet, inside was a bare wooden dresser and on the opposite side of the room was a desk with the same finish. The last piece of furniture was a bookshelf pushed into the left-hand corner, and it was also dark, bare wood.

It was a small room compared to the one I'd had at Renee-mom's, but I thought it was cozier. Maybe because my childhood bedroom had been on the smaller side. My first childhood room, that is. God, even I still got confused.

I heaved my first bag, a camo-print duffel, onto the bed. This one had all of my clothes in it, and clothes would be the easiest things to unpack since they all go into either the closet or the dresser drawers. My style was a lot more eclectic than it had been originally. Something about realizing how little all those opinions mattered, considering the people who had them didn't even exist to me anymore, made me a lot more confident in what I wanted to do. So there were flowy skirts and chunky cable knit and a tinge of grunge from the thrift store, all combining to create a very mis-matched wardrobe experience.

All my clothes were just about put away when I heard a faint beeping coming from downstairs. I guessed it to be the oven timer going off, and when Charlie-Dad called my name I knew I was right.

I saw on the microwave that it was about 8:30 when I went down to the kitchen grab some pizza. Dad was in the living room, plate perched on his knee, watching the hockey game, and if I remembered anything about the teams that were playing I might've joined him. Instead I said goodnight and gave him a kiss on the cheek before taking my food back up to my room. Part of me wanted to spend a bit more time with Dad, but another part was fucking exhausted from the plane ride and still wanted to finish unpacking.

With my ass on the hardwood floor and my back against the side of the bed, I wolfed down my two double cheese slices. Plain, yes, but always delicious.

I stared at my second suitcase where it sat across from me, next to the door. I'd shoved all the things that were not clothes into that one, the plastic box case with wheels and an extendable handle. I put my empty plate on the bedside table and grabbed the bag off of the floor to haul it onto my mattress. It landed with a thump and a bounce, and I heard a bit of rattling come from inside. Oops. Nothing too fragile was in there, but I didn't want any of my pictures to get creased or my radio to shake a wire loose.

Once I'd set said radio up on my bedside table and plugged the aux cord into my MP3 player, the rest of the organization went quickly. I had quite a number of knickknacks, but I'd also had the two hour flight from Arizona to plan out where I wanted to put everything. With my posters and fairy lights hung on the walls and my few stuffed toys laid out on the bed, I decided I should probably have a shower. Sure, tomorrow was Sunday, but I still smelled like smog and airport.

I grabbed my toiletries, all kept in a small rainbow tote bag, and headed towards the bathroom. It was spacious, at least when you thought about the size of it relative to the rest of the rooms in the house, with a full bath and shower alongside the toilet and sink. I tossed the bag onto the counter and stripped, dropping my clothes on the faded green bathmat. After I grabbed my razor and body wash from said bag, I stepped into the shower.

Thankfully, there was a bottle of Head N Shoulders shampoo left on the side of the tub, courtesy Charlie-Dad, so I'd be using that until I could run out and buy some of my own. Why didn't I bring any? I ran out of room in the toiletry bag.

No conditioner, but I could make it a day. Ugh, dry, unconditioned hair was a nightmare.

I finished scrubbing my body pink with my loofah and shaved all the bits I desired to shave before pouring a dollop of shampoo into my hand. As I lathered my hair, I tried to ignore how I could feel the natural oils being pulled away from my scalp. I didn't used to care about my hair so much, but it was such a beautiful, soft, dark honey blonde now – I couldn't help but think it was my best feature.

A person's allowed to be vain, alright? There's nothing wrong with a little aesthetic pride now and again.

My hair used to be a rich, dark brown that curled and frizzed up in any direction it could reach. My eyes had been a deep blue-grey with little hazel flecks, I'd been the type of kid to claim they changed colour with my emotions.

Sometimes, even after nearing on seventeen years, it sent me reeling. The impossibility of it, the ridiculousness of it.

I rinsed all the suds off and stepped back onto the mat. There was a towel hanging on the back of the door and soon enough I had it wrapped around my body. A quick, damp run out into the hallway and down to the linen closet and I had a second towel for my hair – I couldn't believe I'd forgotten the second towel. Perhaps moving was rattling me a bit more than I thought it had.

Outside, through the open window, I saw that it was still raining. The steam that clogged the room swirled out past the screen and melded with the cool air like a small whirlpool before my eyes. I felt the chill on my shoulders when I moved to stand in front of the mirror. I couldn't see my reflection, because it was fogged, but the blurry outline of my head was like something out of a dream – soft and wavy and muted. I felt the weight of the towel on my head, wrapped up around my hair, pressing down on my neck and slowly pushing me into the floor.

When did everything get so heavy?

I wiped the mirror clean with one hand and stared. That face, with brown eyes and tanned skin and the smallest smattering of freckles across the bridge of the nose, was mine. It shouldn't have been mine. Hell, it shouldn't have even looked like it did, but it did, and it was mine, and there was nothing to be done about it.

I should've been over it. Really, I was. I had dealt with my new reality and my new family and my new face for years upon years. It wasn't shocking anymore, it was my normal.

Except it wasn't.

I locked eyes with the not-so-strange stranger in front of me and wondered why I had to remember. I wondered why woke up in this new life. I asked myself why I didn't just forget and fade and disappear, like I was meant to, when I died.

* * *

 **AN: I haven't published anything in years, but I have this idea rattling around so I thought I might as well put it up. If you have any crit or suggestions or anything, please share, I'm all for having my mistakes pointed out, I love help, ha. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this first chapter; next one will be up in a week.**


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning I woke to fingers of smooth jazz jabbing into my ears. God, what radio station was that? I reached out and switched the alarm off, goosebumps rose on my arm as it bathed in the cool ambient air. One eye peeled slowly open and I caught sight of the time – 6:30. Great, I forgot to turn the alarm off.

Wait a minute, fuck, I also forgot to change the time, stupid time zones. My mind began to chug along and I could almost hear cogs grinding together as I did some speedy math. Arizona didn't have Daylight Saving, but it was March – wait again, when did DST end, anyway? When did it start? How did I not know this after two whole lifetimes? Washington was an hour ahead in Pacific Standard but...

Fuck it.

With a groan I rolled over, snuggled deeper into my duvet, and pulled my pillow onto my face. It was too early to figure out something so unnecessarily complicated.

* * *

When I opened my eyes for the second time, sans jazz, it was 11:47. At least, that's what my digital clock told me. I found that much more reasonable. Sure, I'd fix the time eventually, but that was going to be a future-Loretta problem; that poor bitch had a lot on her plate.

Sunlight was coming in through the curtains, but it was pale blue and muted, and I knew it was overcast outside. I sat up in bed and pushed the window open. The wet grass and petrichor smell came in a wave, filling the room as well as my senses with a cool rainy breeze.

I loved it here – more than Arizona, sometimes even more than I'd loved my first home state.

Not bothering to change out of my pyjamas, which were actually just a pair of flannel shorts and a ratty t-shirt, I left my room and went downstairs, heading to the kitchen. There were a few pictures hung in the hall, one full family photo from before the divorce, two of me and dad fishing, my ninth grade portrait, and one of us with the Blacks from before the crash that killed Sarah. I stopped in front of that last one and met the eyes of the woman captured in time.

Nothing had been written about her, at least I didn't think anything had been, and that was incredibly unfair. Sarah Black, Billy's wife, had been a warm, open woman and a skilled painter. She'd always helped me with my science homework and made grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches for lunch whenever I was visiting and had taught me how to french braid my own hair. Why hadn't she been important enough to write about?

She should've had whole chapters dedicated to the way her voice lilted when she sang lullabies.

Shaking off my melancholy, I walked on. I noticed the clock on our microwave read 10:50am, and my awake-brain was able to remember that Daylight Saving Time hadn't started yet, which meant Washington was an hour ahead. One less problem for future-Loretta to deal with. The rest of our kitchen was a pale, eggy sort of yellow, with chipped paint on the cabinets and a small dent in the fridge door. Not that I could remember what dented it in the first place, but I liked to think it was something a bit more interesting than indoor soccer; a thanksgiving turkey mishap, maybe?

I stood on my tip-toes to grab a cereal bowl from the cupboard, then filled it to the brim with Froot Loops and chocolate milk – a balanced breakfast for me, always. I sat at the kitchen table to eat my sugar coma, staring all the while at a coffee ring staining the wood right next to my bowl and tracing it absentmindedly with my finger. Did I want to make coffee? I thought for a minute, shovelling cereal into my mouth, and decided it couldn't hurt.

Dad came in a few minutes later, after I already had the pot percolating on the burner, so I was grateful I'd made more than enough for the two of us to share.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" He asked blearily, grabbing a random mug – it happened to have a cat on it – from the cupboard.

I shook my head, "It's Sunday, dad."

He poured himself some coffee, kept it black, and took a sip, "Right, I knew that. I was testing you."

"Whatever you say."

My back was to him, as the coffee maker was on the counter behind me, but I could almost hear him rolling his eyes. Fondly, but all the way to the back of his head and around again. Another trait we shared, as I couldn't say I got it from him, was our flair for the sardonic.

I slurped the rest of the milk and the pattern out of the inside of my bowl, then stuck my tongue out at the feel of tiny cereal granules coating my mouth. The absolute worst part of any meal were the specks and crumbs that got stuck between your teeth.

Charlie-Dad took his seat across from me and didn't blink when the cushion on his chair let out that awful squeaking noise it always made. We were both pretty used to it, all the creaks and groans of the stuff in this house.

As we stayed like that, together in fairly comfortable silence, I wondered how I'd be getting to school tomorrow morning. I could walk, probably, well there was no probably about it, I could definitely walk the distance if I wanted to. Problem was, I didn't want to. Despite how cool it would be to show up in a cop car, hopefully reminding everyone that I had a bit of clout with local law enforcement, I didn't want to inconvenience my dad too much when he most likely had to work.

Those seemed to be my only two options, though.

I knew Bella had gotten a truck, I think it'd been orange, but that was no guarantee I'd be getting a vehicle of my own. I decided I would just suck it up and ask Charlie-Dad for a lift, but he spoke before I could start.  
"Oh," he set his mug down, "Billy and Jake are gonna be comin' around later, sort of a 'welcome home' thing, so stick around 'til then okay?"

That maybe, sorta, answered that. I nodded and smiled, since I hadn't planned on going anywhere that day anyway. Even if I had, I missed Billy and Jake; I hadn't been able to see them since last summer and I was glad I'd get to before I started school the next day.

Don't get me wrong, I knew everyone my age, but it'd been a few years since I'd been in class with them all so it was bound to be a little odd seeing each other, especially since I hadn't spent time with them since I'd moved away.

Me and Jake, on the other hand, had never gone to the same school, and as such didn't share that same awkward limitation. We would always hang out at each others houses, or in the woods behind my house, or at La Push beach, and we'd emailed back and forth after I'd left. Which didn't always make for the easiest communication, but it worked.

Let me tell you, the internet was no picnic.

I hadn't been old enough to really grasp the tragedy of dial-up the first time around, but oh boy, I nearly cried when Mom got broadband. Just ignore the fact that Charlie-Dad still couldn't order a pizza while posting to his fishing forum and everything was fine. I'd make it, honest – patience was a virtue after all.

I was a young millennial through-and-through, okay, and I'd been missing Netflix for seventeen years.

I shook thoughts of speedy Wifi out of my head and paused to see if Dad would say anything else. When he didn't, I stood up and put my cereal bowl in the sink to wash later.

"I'm just going upstairs, okay?"

He made a little humming noise to show he heard me.

Then I remembered that I was going to ask for a ride, "Hey Dad, could you give me a lift to school tomorrow morning?"

"Sorry bud, I have to be in to the station pretty early."

I sighed dramatically, making sure my good humour shone through, "Fine, thanks anyway."

"I wouldn't worry about it," he said, and I caught a tiny grin twitching on the side of his moustache, "It won't seem that far in a few hours, promise."

I fought not to raise my eyebrows, because if I didn't know what I definitely knew that wouldn't have been such a dead giveaway. If push came to shove and I was totally off the mark, truck-wise, I could always invest in a bicycle. A cute, pastel one with a basket on the front – yeah, I liked the sound of that.

I left the kitchen with a little backwards wave to Dad and took the stairs two at a time up to my room. I shut the door behind me, gently, then straightened my duvet so the bed would look neater instead of taking the time to make it properly, and plopped down on top of the covers.

Tomorrow was going to be hell. Even with all my practice, could I really keep blaring music in my head for six hours straight? No, not six hours, basically the next two years of my life? Every thought relegated to a vague emotional imprint because of a guy who might not actually be able to read my mind?

There was still a chance my entire second life was a coincidence. Until I saw them sparkle with my own eyes, saw them maul a goddamn cougar with their bare hands, it was all up in the air.

I snorted half hysterically. I wasn't that lucky. Why did they have to have magic powers on top of their everything else? It wasn't fair.

I couldn't plan anything too far in advance, that being the feeble Anti-Alice precaution I came up with when I moved away from Forks the first time, so I focused intensely on not deciding how I would get to school in the morning. I could walk, I could hitch a ride at the crack of dawn with Dad, I could hitchhike – the possibilities were endless. I didn't honestly want to be late on my first day, but it was a chance I'd take.

Over on my desk, next to my bulky laptop, was a sparkly purple ten-sided die; I used it to make decisions more than half the time, usually less than two minutes before the decision had to be made. Just another precaution.

With a sigh I dragged my hands over my face, god, so many obnoxious changes I'd made to my routines to try and keep the Cullens off my trail. The worst part? I wasn't sure I wanted them off my trail in the first place.

Sure they could kill me to keep their secret, something that worried me less for my own sake and more for how my family would take it, but that would be a pretty drastic last resort for them, especially since I was the Sheriff's kid. Beyond that, they were old-as-balls supernatural creatures, maybe they – read; Carlisle – would have a clue as to this whole reincarnation business. A long shot, yes, but not out of the question.

Not that I'd go up and ask them, but if they found out what I knew they might approach me first and we could strike some sort of deal.

Nothing was certain and I hated it.

I'd always needed everything to be planned, before, I'd hated sudden change because it gave me anxiety; it was a bit easier now, with this different me, but the remnants of my controlling nature would sometimes make my skin crawl in discomfort when a particularly sudden turn was necessary. I knew worrying wouldn't get me anywhere, that no matter how I tried to predict the future I would never account for all the variables, that all my careful planning had most likely only bought me a couple extra days, but I had to try.

Would my defences even work? I'd find out in less than twenty-four hours, and all I could do was wait. Until then, however, I had to wait for a few more things, like Billy and Jake to show up.

* * *

I was staring at myself in the mirror, trying to decide on the severity of my eyeliner wing, when I heard the most monstrous engine growling down the road. I recognized it instantly as the Black's old truck and was glad I'd limited my nail-biting to thirty minutes at most. Not that they'd think less of me if I greeted them in my pyjamas, but I'd like to look a bit closer to my best after so many months without seeing them. After choosing a wing that flared more than was actually in style for 2005 but would fit in perfectly at my freshman year of college, I brushed my hair over my shoulders and left the bathroom.

The grumbling of the engine cut out just as I hopped the last step to the hardwood floor of the front hall, and I was throwing the screen door open before Dad even had a chance to stand from where he sat watching TV. The drizzle from earlier in the morning had stopped and been replaced by a blanket of fog that seeped around the orange truck now parked in our driveway.

I ran out to meet Jake, who was helping Billy down from the cab and into his wheelchair, and waited for him to turn to face me before throwing my arms around him.

"Woah, Ed, you snuck up on me!" He laughed, spinning me around once before setting me back down.

I grinned, "No shoes, see?" I wiggled one sock-foot in the air, "It's how I'm so quiet – trade secret."

"Not much of a secret anymore," Billy said, "Now, don't I get a hug too?"  
I happily gave him the biggest hug I could muster, bending at the waist to get close enough, the familiar warmth of his embrace soothing my leftover stress, "Of course, Uncle Billy."

Behind me I heard the snap of Dad's shoes against the walkway and a sigh, "You couldn't've waited five more seconds to put on your boots?"  
"Nope, sorry Dad."

Jake, who was taller than me – as most people were, now – mussed up my hair. "Don't you wanna know why we stopped by?"

"Watch the hair!" He knew how I felt about my hair, hell, he teased me about that spot of vanity often enough, you'd think he'd get the hint, "Obviously you missed me and couldn't wait for another one of my bear hugs."

I was basically certain, at that point, I'd be getting the truck.

"That too, but we also brought you a little welcome home present."

"Ooo, well, you can tell me all about it when we're inside, yeah?" I made a little motion towards the door, "My toes are cold... and damp."  
Charlie-Dad snorted, "That's why we wear shoes, Etta."

I'd already started towards the house and stopped to blow a raspberry over my shoulder when I noticed nobody was following me. At that, I quirked my eyebrow, "What? Everyone wants me to get some toesicles?"

Jake was the first to crack, "We can't exactly bring the truck in with us."

Billy whacked him in the side and made a point of mock-whispering, "You ruined the surprise!"

I, along with everyone else, ignored Jake's feigned cry and brought my hands up to my face to feign my own reaction – this one being shock. I was overjoyed, yes, and so thankful for Billy's kindness, but there had been no way for them to surprise me with this gift, even if I hadn't been thinking about it earlier in the day. As soon as I saw it in the driveway, I knew.

"Oh my god, Uncle Billy, thank you so much!"

He chuckled, "I figured it should go to a good home, now I can't drive it anymore."

"And if you ever have any problems with it, I can fix it up for you!" Jake said.

"Hopefully you can teach me a few things," I swooped in to give Billy another hug, "Really, guys, thank you."

They both waved me off and I noticed Charlie-Dad had meandered over to pull the makeshift ramp around from the side of the house to set up against the front step. It was made of like, five layers of plywood and sawed-off two-by-fours and had served us well for the past couple years.

After he dropped it, Dad brushed his hands together and nodded, "We gonna head in or what? Can't have Etta getting those toesicles."

Jake nudged me playfully as he passed and Billy gave me a wink as he wheeled towards the door, leaving me last in line. The two men were talking about getting together for fish-fry later in the week, something about living off pizza for too long and how Charlie needed to cook more now that I was around, and I smiled. Jake ducked into the house in a flash, his dark hair trailing behind in a wave, probably hoping to snag Charlie-Dad's chair before anyone else since it was the most comfortable we had.

"Get out of my chair, Jake!"

I was still on the little path leading from the driveway as the door slammed behind Billy and Dad, and I couldn't help but shake my head at the laughter coming from inside. A certain boy had been forcefully evicted from a certain chair, it seemed.

Tomorrow would be a pain. Cullens and new school politics and whatever else this God-forsaken universe decided to throw at me. But today? I hopped up the ramp in my wet socks and peeled them off in the front hall, shoving them into my boots to deal with later. Today I was going to enjoy seeing the people who were as much my family as Renee and Charlie. I was going to tease Jake about the time we honestly made mud-pies and the crush he had on some girl at his school named Maggie, and I was going to forget for a second that I was seventeen going on forty.

Despite the bullshit, it was good to be home.

* * *

I couldn't remember how I died. Something like that, my own death, you'd think it would stick in my mind – it didn't. One night I went to sleep, then there's a collage of misplaced memories: taking the bus to work, eating an egg salad sandwich for lunch, despairing that my pants were getting too tight. Then? Nothing, nothing and being born, shoved into the same second. I wasn't exactly aware of it at the time, that I'd just been born. It took nearly a year for me to gather my wits enough to understand I was even a baby, a person, that I wasn't just having some strangely blurry dream.

There were details, of my first life, that still escaped me, even after so many years spent straining my mind to recall even the tiniest glimpse of them. My age, for one. I knew I'd been in my twenties, and based on how I acted it was probably my early twenties, but I couldn't be sure. I _was_ sure I'd been born, the first time, in November, but the day and year never resurfaced no matter how hard I tried.

I couldn't remember my parents names. I remembered how they looked, my dad with dirty blond hair and a cleft chin, my mom brunette with a flat nose and round cheeks. I remembered how dad taught me how to drive and that mom would shoo us both out of the kitchen when she wanted to cook, how they both liked reading but only mom watched Game of Thrones, but I couldn't remember their names.

The trivial things seemed to stick with me the most. The entire plot of a series I didn't even like, for instance, was seared into my brain. The quadratic formula, how to change the oil in a Toyota Matrix, the names of all the major Supernatural characters, all the Superbowl wins starting from 1980, the list of stupid information I could pull out of my ass was endless.

Okay, that last one had netted me a good amount of cash, but still, it wasn't life changing. It wasn't really important. I'd much rather remember the names of the parents who actually raised me, the first time, than have an extra thousand or so dollars in the bank. Knowing what an aglet was only ever won me one round of scrabble, anyway.

Most of the time I tried not to let it bother me. I was Loretta now, the past was in the past and lingering on it would only hurt. Sure, I'd use the foreknowledge, I'd kick at sports betting, but I wouldn't mourn my family any longer.

At least, that's what I told myself.

It was harder to pull off than I expected, which sucked, because I never thought it'd be particularly easy to begin with. I loved Charlie and Renee. No matter their faults, they did the best the could, and they always looked out for me. Renee was a bit flighty, a little ditzy, but she meant well. It was difficult, though, to look at them and not see echoes of who should've been there, who had been there first. So when I first tried putting the past in the past, a la Timone and Pumbaa, I was prepared for an uphill battle.

I wasn't prepared for that battle to take the rest of my life. I should have. How could I honestly expect it to be an easy thing to get over? My past, my life, my parents, the fact that I had a whole life I could never even talk about, how could I assume I was strong enough to put that behind me?

Nights were the worst, cliche as it was. This night, specifically, was one of the worst I'd had in a while. With the duvet pulled up over my head and tears soaking silently into my mountain of pillows, I listened to the light pitter-pat of drizzle against my window.

I'd been doing so well, and then Jake and Billy had needed to go, and I was left all alone at the beginning of The Plot while Charlie drove them home. By the time he got back I'd had a good twenty minutes to stew in my own head and I'd barely been able to get through a goodnight hug before my face crumpled inwards like discarded wrapping paper. I'd made it up to my room before he could see, thank God, since he'd go assuming I was sad about moving back to Forks. I didn't want that, I couldn't have Charlie-Dad thinking his own kid didn't want to live with him.

I hunkered down further into my cocoon of covers and hugged a pillow to my chest. Everything would be okay. I would go to school tomorrow, I would stave off the Cullens, I would make a grand entrance and reconnect with my old friends and dazzle the teachers with my winning personality.

Everything would be fine. I would be Loretta Jane Swan.

I had to be, it was the only name I could remember.

* * *

 **AN: Not really a week, but I had it done and I wanted to get it out before I redid it to death. Again, any crit or complaints or suggestions, please share! I'd love to hear your opinions. Thank you _orchidluv_ and _simbacurls_ for your comments!**


	3. Chapter 3

I sat in the cab of my truck – that I had yet to name, unfortunately – and tapped my fingers against the worn pleather of the steering wheel in time to the staticy song blaring from the radio. Forks High was just as odd as anticipated, an awkward cluster of brick-red buildings as opposed to one big cement block next to a parking lot. Monday, my first day, would officially start in forty-five minutes and I'd yet to actually park. I still had to get my schedule, find my locker, pick a nice mental playlist with which to distract good ol' Eddie, and I was sort of shook up about the whole thing. It made everything real.

I'd gone to school in Forks before, but not this school, not the one from the books, not the one I'd been imagining for literal years as I contemplated time-lines and alternate universes. How was I supposed to get through the day without alerting the Cullens? How could I be sure my one defence, my stupid mental singing, could mask my mind well enough that the fucking mind reader wouldn't see I knew all his terrible, supernatural secrets? There wasn't any way to be sure. I would just have to trust that I could either outsmart a hundred year old sparkly bloodsucker or would be somehow gifted with the same impenetrable mind as OG Bella.

Wearily, with much hesitation, I pulled the handbrake and hopped out of the cab of the truck, backpack slung over my shoulder. Beneath my sneakers the asphalt was damp with a thin layer of slush, not snow, but road-salt and old rain mixed together in a slippery mess. I only slid once, my hands thrown out on either side and pinwheeled around to keep my balance, between my truck and the doors.

A little sign, hung crooked, proclaimed this first building to be the office. A warm blast of air assaulted me when I walked in and my eyes were drawn to a multitude of potted plants hanging, standing, and sitting in various places around the room. Said room was divided by a chest-high counter that spanned three-quarters of the space, with seven battered plastic chairs against the wall on the entrance side and three desks on the other. There was a red-haired woman behind one of the desks, the one to the far left with a novelty beaver pot full of pens on top of it, who looked up as the door clicked shut behind me. Hadn't the secretary Bella met been red-haired, too? Was I doomed to follow her high school experience to the letter?

"Can I help you with something?" She asked, adjusting a pile of folders by her elbow. She had glasses. For some reason, I always expected secretaries to have glasses.

"Ah, yes, I'm Loretta Swan? I'm starting here today."

The woman's eyes, a nice, dark blue, lit up. "LJ, I hardly recognized you, it's so nice to have you back! I know it's been a while, but do you remember me? I'm Andrew's mom, Evelyn Cope."

I did remember her, suddenly. She'd been a few pounds heavier the last time I saw her, but she kept her hair in the same loose bun. Andy Cope was two years older than me, but he was one of those kids who made friends with everybody; we'd met once at the park and that same day I was invited to his birthday party.

"Yeah, yeah I remember," I smiled. We hadn't been close, but Andy had lent me some of his library books when the librarian said I was 'too young' to read the ones I wanted.

"Well come on around and we'll get you all sorted, how about that?" She waved me over and pulled a few papers out of the topmost folder, "I have a schedule and a map with your name on them."

Weaving past the counter, I came to stand in front of her desk and hunched over a bit to watch as she spread the papers out before her. One of them was the map, on which she circled a fuzzy box labelled 'Office' in yellow highlighter. "We're right here, and here is your first class," she drew a line through a cluster of other fuzzy shapes to another box, this one labelled 'Building 3', "English, with Mr. Mason."

I paid close attention as she, in six different highlighter colours, circled my other classes and drew the routes between them and the office. She gestured occasionally towards the other paper – presumably my schedule, though I hadn't gotten a good look at it yet – and told me a bit about what the teachers were like with a little wink. A lot of her information seemed more like gossip than things she should've been telling a student, like how Ms. Howe was seen walking with the shop teacher to his car last week, but I didn't mind in the slightest – I liked being in the know.

"That's everything," Mrs. Cope said, and handed me the map, my schedule, and a pink slip with a smile, "Just have all your teachers sign that pink paper and bring it back at the end of the day, and if you need anything don't hesitate to come ask me, okay?"

I nodded, "Thanks. Tell Andy I said hi, yeah?"

"Will do, hon."

With that she went back to her folders and I left the office, which had been getting little too warm for me and my knit sweater. I carefully avoided the puddles and tiny drifts of slush on my way back to my truck and hopped back up into the cab like I'd had years of practice, tossing my bag onto the passenger seat. I still had a while before class started, so I took the time to examine the map more closely.

There were seven buildings making up the school, including the cafeteria, and they were plotted like someone had thrown darts at the map and decided to build where they landed. There was a note scrawled across the bottom of the map telling me I had to park in the student lot – when had she had the time to write that? I'd been watching her the whole time – and an arrow pointing to an empty space next to the caf.

I threw the truck into first and pulled out of the office lot. Couldn't be breaking any rules on my first day now could I? It was only about a minute before I found the turn and started scanning for an empty spot to park Truckzilla. Was Truckzilla a good name? No, no, too obvious. Scrap that one. I found a space and took it, but kept scanning the other cars as they drove past.

What was it the Cullens drove again? A Buick? It was some nice, tinted, SUV-type car, I was sure of it.

Then I realized what I was doing, how suspicious my thoughts would be, and immediately broke into the chorus of a mid-2000s pop son in my head. With that going, I let myself fall into autopilot. I grabbed my bag and shoved my keys in the side pocket, since my skirt-and-wool tights combo didn't have pockets, but it wasn't until I had to raise a had to shield my eyes from the sun that it dawned on me.

The tune between my ears drifted out and away and I, for the first time that morning, really noticed the weather. It was sunny. Sure, a couple clouds dotted the sky, but nothing like what I'd expected after the rain we'd had all night. How could I have forgotten about the weather?  
Kids flocked together on their way to class, sunglasses perched on noses or atop heads, hell, one guy was in a t-shirt, basically ignoring the fact that it was still winter. One boy in a baseball cap shoved his friend, and the friend stole his cap, and they chased each other out of my field of vision. A few people were even smiling, despite it being a Monday morning. They were all basking in the rare showing of sunshine, and I couldn't decide whether the feeling in my gut was disappointment or relief.

Fuck head singing, it was sunny, and sun meant no Cullens.

* * *

With my revelation that I wouldn't be facing the Cullens for at least another twenty-four hours, I floated through the first half of the day. I got most of the signatures I needed for my pink paper, though I didn't know what it was for, and introduced myself four times over to classes full of kids who smiled and waved and recognized me either from my past at Forks Elementary or my summertime visits.

English went well. Mr. Mason was genial, if a little dull, and I sat next to Paige Flanagan, a pale girl with a black bob hairstyle who'd been my friend before I moved to Renee-Mom's. We went over the reading list for the semester, a list of old, white, male authors, and I learned I'd have the pleasure of reading Wuthering Heights. I'd never read it and, honestly, I wasn't looking forward to it. In the spare minutes before the bell, Paige re-introduced me to Eric Yorkie – yes, that same Eric – who I'd known from a few summer parties in years past and he helped me parse the directions on my map to end up in art class for second period.

Art was my favourite, not because of anything specific, I just liked to draw. I wasn't very good, I wouldn't be winning any awards or being volunteered for any murals, but Ms. Howe was eccentric and clearly loved her subject, so I was looking forward to picking a topic for the cumulative painting project she told us about. I latched onto Angela Weber, another familiar face, as soon as I saw she was in art with me. We sat together at one of the bench tables and she caught me up on how things were going with her mom, who was six years in remission with breast cancer.

Angie had to run to get to her own English, so she handed me off to Jessica Stanley in the hall after a quick introduction and skedaddled. I only knew of Jessica, I hadn't really talked to her in depth before, and I found out that she was a bit of a gossip. She was harmless, I figured, just had a taste for drama, and she didn't mind when I called her Jess so I counted her towards my friend tally. The two of us had Trig together but she already had a desk partner, so I wound up taking the only empty seat, which was in the back corner with no neighbour.

I didn't mind at all. Alright, maybe I'd mind when I needed help with some of the concepts and couldn't ask a buddy for help, but at the moment, solitude in one class would work for me.

Mr. Varner, the Trig teacher, droned on until the exact moment the bell sounded. As soon as he said we could go I was out of my chair and making a beeline for the door. Math, in any lifetime, was a mortal enemy. So what if I'd managed to memorize my times-tables this time around? Numbers were still the work of the Devil.

"Loretta!" Jess called, "Why are you running?"

"I'm not running, I just have long legs."

She scoffed, "You're telling me."

I slowed down and we fell into step with each other. She didn't look anything like that actress, the Cup Song one; she had olive skin and wild, dark curls that added about two inches to her height, though she was still an inch shorter than me.

"How are you wearing a skirt?" Her mouth was pulled in a bit of a grimace, and, ah, there's the judgemental side, "It's freezing."

I bent my leg and lifted it to tug briefly at the thick wool of my tights, saying, "These are really warm, and besides, I like how this sweater and this skirt look together." I felt nice in the clothes I was wearing, and that was the only point to it.

Out of the corner of my eye I could've sworn I saw her roll her eyes. I held back a small sigh – maybe I wouldn't count her as too close a friend if she would be like that. I didn't want to get on too high of a horse, though, God knows I wasn't a saint.

Jess shook her head and tucked a curl behind her ear, "Whatever. You do look cute, though, so I guess you're on the right track."

I laughed, "Thanks."

"Anyway, do you wanna get together and go over the stuff for the Trig quiz sometime? I can help you catch up on some of the formulas, if you need help."

That was mildly unexpected. I blinked owlishly at her for a moment, then said, "Yes, please! Tonight or- oof!"

She grabbed my wrist lightly and tugged me back a few steps. I was about to ask, but then I saw the sign on the door that proclaimed the room we stood in front of to be Mrs. Goff's Spanish class. "Thanks," I grinned.

"Don't worry about it."

We filed in, us and a couple other students, one of whom was Paige. She walked ahead and waved me over to two empty desks on the side of the room. I looked back, to see if Jess would mind me leaving, but the shorter girl was already off talking to a boy with spiky blond hair. Wait, blond spikes, would that be, uh, Mike? I waved halfheartedly in Jessica's general direction and made a 'one minute' motion to Paige with my hand.

Mrs. Goff was an older woman with greying hair and a stern pinch to her face, and when I went up to her to ask her to sign my paper, she stopped me before the first syllable was even out of my mouth. She pointed to the whiteboard, and there, written in sharp cursive was, _SOLO ES_ _PA_ _Ñ_ _O_ _L._ I ended up stumbling through five or six fragmented sentences, first to get her to sign the damn paper, but then again to introduce myself to the class. Everyone I made eye contact with sent me looks of sympathy, likely understanding my mortification. I wasn't horrible at Spanish, but I was nowhere near fluent; I just needed another language credit. It wasn't my fault – I took French the first time I had to learn a language.

Introduction done, Mrs. Goff handed me my paper and sent me off towards where Paige was not-so-subtly waving. I ate up the distance between us and plopped down in the empty seat next to her, pulling my things out of my backpack and setting them up on the desk. Paige elbowed me lightly and waggled her fingers in a silly wave. I waved back.

At the front of the room, the teacher cleared her throat and began to explain, in Spanish, what we would be doing in class. We were meant to hold a conversation in Spanish for the first few minutes, apparently, and then we'd get some worksheets. She held a whiteboard marker like a riding crop and started to walk and down the aisles, shushing anyone who spoke in English where she could hear.

Paige asked my how my weekend was in Spanish, but took her pen and scrawled a note on a loose piece of paper from my binder. _Why were you talking to Jessica Stanley?_

I told her it went well, that I ate pizza, and replied, _Angela introduced us, she walked me to Trig._

 _Watch out for her,_ Paige continued, _she's kind of two fa-_

Someone cleared their throat, loudly, right behind me. It was Mrs. Goff, looking pointedly between us and the scribbling we were doing in my binder, and I whipped the cover closed before she could get any funny ideas, like reading what we wrote aloud.

"Lo siento, Señora Goff," Paige and I murmured in unison.

The woman quirked a brow, wagged her whiteboard marker in our direction, and went back to the front of the room to critique what was probably a cacophony of horrible Spanish. Luckily, she didn't say a word about what she may or may not have read on our page. I did not want to deal with a hurt or annoyed Jessica, especially when I had already decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I met Paige's gaze and she grinned. I looked pointedly in Mrs. Goff's direction and tried to hide the twitch of my own lip, though I don't think I succeeded.

* * *

Lunch was heaven sent, a reprieve after an hour or so of the stilted Spanish phrases and needling questions from Paige about Jessica. We exchanged phone numbers, she promised to eat with me the next day, and she was gone.

I walked to the cafeteria on my own, since Paige had run off to meet her boyfriend in the parking lot and Jess had walked off with her seat partner before I could wave her down. I stood in the doorway and examined my seating options. Angela and Jessica were sitting together at the end of one table with a few other people, two boys and a girl, though they hadn't noticed me yet. Kids I knew by sight but not by name were sat sporadically around the remaining tables, talking with their friends and eating their lunches. I had packed some food so I wouldn't have to buy anything, a plastic bag with two pizza slices wrapped in tinfoil clutched in my hands.

In the very centre of the caf, positioned just out of the sunlight that spilled in through the windows, was one completely empty table. I knew, from a movie scene flashed behind my eyes, that the Cullens sat there, and two options lay in my future. One, I could turn to the right, catch Angie's attention, and sit with the people I knew; or two, I could go straight, sit at that empty table, and have a reason to talk to the Cullens when they next showed up.

I still didn't know if I wanted them to notice me or not, not really.

Fortunately, the choice was made for me when Angela looked up and waved me over. A space was made for me between herself and Eric Yorkie for me to squeeze into. I tucked my bag underneath the bench, set my lunch down, and took a moment to brush my hair back over my shoulders to keep it out of my face.

"Thanks," I said.

Angela smiled at me, "Oh don't thank us, we wanted you to sit with us anyway."

Eric turned to me, "Hey Etta, how were the rest of your classes?"

"They were okay," I answered as I unwrapped my pizza slices, "Spanish and Trig were a bit of a drag, but that's just cos I'm kind of dumb."

He looked offended on my behalf, "Don't say that! I don't think you're dumb."

I laughed, and the second boy – the one from Spanish with blond, spiky hair – reached across the table to offer me his hand. "I'm Mike Newton," he told me as I shook his outstretched hand, "I think we were in seventh grade together? I'm not really sure, but you're familiar. Ah, not in a creepy way, or anything, not like-"

Jessica cut him off, "Of course she remembers you, Mike."

I didn't, but made a small noise of agreement anyway.

"Sorry for ditching you in Spanish," Jess said, "but me and Carrie – you know Carrie Ward, right? – were oral partners earlier in the year and we just sit together, y'know?"

I, on the other hand, did know Carrie Ward. Her dad owned the laundromat off Main Street.

After introductions were given all around and I'd learned the third girl was named Lauren Mallory, Jess began to spin a tale of epic proportions of which I was the star. She explained, mostly to the other occupants of the table, how she had shown me around during Trig and how we were meeting up later – and wasn't that so good of her, to help me study? Lauren appeared indifferent, while Mike and Eric nodded along.

When a small lull opened in her monologue, I gestured to what I'd assumed to be the Cullens' table and asked, "So, what's with that empty table over there?" I needed an excuse to know about them, an excuse to know their names, in case I slipped up. I would definitely slip up.

Jess got this look on her face, like the pieces of a diabolical plan had just fallen into place, and she leaned closer, "That's where the Cullens sit." She nearly whispered, and then left her sentence trailing, broadcasting how she wanted me to ask.

I caved, "Who are the Cullens?"

Eric sighed and I heard him mutter, "Here we go."

"They're this big family that moved down from Alaska, like, two years ago," she said, her voice a conspiratorial hiss, "Five of them, plus mom and dad, and they're all gorgeous. Literally, they look like supermodels, but they act like they're better than everyone and never talk to other people. They're weird."

"Weird how?"

"Besides not talking to anyone?" she made it sound like I was an idiot, "Well, two of them are dating."

I paused, letting that sink in. Not because it was shocking, but because she had clearly forgotten to tell me they were foster kids and that was a crucial part of the story. Another thing – only two of them? What about the two others who were meant to be together?

Angela butted in then with a frown, "They're all foster kids, Etta, so it's nothing bad. Only two are really related, and those aren't the two that are, y'know..."

"It's still weird!" Jess scoffed.

I couldn't help but agree. I knew they weren't actually foster kids, that they hadn't actually spent any of their formative years together, but for part of their cover it was really conspicuous. I wasn't a psychologist or a social worker, but I couldn't believe the foster system would be okay with something like that happening. Then again, what did I know. Still, for a family that wanted to blend in so badly it was odd they wouldn't consider the rumours that would follow that kind of relationship.

Instead of commenting on that train of thought I took a bite of my pizza.

"Come on," Jess went on, "You can't think it's not weird."

"What are their names?" I asked, hoping to get my excuse.

Angela shot a look towards Jess over her glasses and turned to me, "Rosalie and Jasper Hale are biological siblings, twins, and the other three are Emmett, Alice, and Edward Cullen." Jess cleared her throat, loudly, and Angie pursed her lips, "Rosalie and Emmett are the ones dating."

Not Jasper and Alice? I felt creeping tendrils of unease spread up my back. What was going on? If that stupid book was wrong about something as simple as their relationship status, what else could it be wrong about? So many other things were the same, I told myself, so it couldn't possibly matter. The doubt was still there, along with a bunch of frantic questions. What if Edward wasn't a broody, bronze-haired menace? What if they all snacked on little kids every meal of the day? What if they weren't even va-

No, don't think the v word, not at Forks High.

Everyone at the table was sort of quiet after that. We made headway on our lunches and broke off into smaller conversations; Eric and Mike talked about some beach trip they were planning, while Lauren told me her mom was on the force with my dad and he'd been talking about my coming home for months. Apparently, she said, Charlie-Dad had been waffling on my welcome home present for weeks before settling on Billy Black's old truck.

"Mom said he asked everyone at the station for ideas," Lauren went on, "She suggested he take you out shooting but he didn't go for it."

I pulled a thoughtful expression. Learning to shoot wouldn't protect me from anything supernatural, but it would be fun. I resolved to look into it later.

Jessica got up and walked her tray over to the garbage to dispose of the remains of her tuna sandwich, and when she got back she scooted in between Eric and me. Eric and Mike got up after that, said their goodbyes and each gave me a little wave, then went over to another table across the cafeteria where a bunch of other boys were calling them.

I looked at the clock on the wall and saw we had ten minutes left before I had to get to my next class. I was about to get up and head out to Biology early, maybe see if I could score a corner seat like in Trig, but Jess piped up before I could make a move.

"I heard," she started, actually taking a moment to look over her shoulder at the Cullens empty table as if they could hear her, "that Mrs. Cullen _can't have kids_ , that's why she and the doctor took in so many fosters. It makes sense, you know, why else would such a young couple want a bunch of teenagers?"

I understood, in that moment, why Bella had been so dismissive of all her friends. Jessica, at least, was becoming unbearable with her criticisms. Sure, I could gossip with the best of them, but there was a colder, meaner edge to her comment about Esme, and I didn't like it.

"What, do you think that's a problem?" I asked sharply.

Jess paused, "What?"

"That she can't have kids, if it's even true. Does that make her less of a person? Does that somehow invalidate what they're doing for those kids?"

"Uh, no?" That tone, the one that implied I was stupid, was back in her voice, "I'm only saying, again, it's weird. I bet they get money from the government for taking care of that many foster kids."

I pushed the bench slowly out from the table and grabbed my backpack. I crumpled my lunch wrappers in one hand, stood up, and scowled at Jessica."That's really shitty of you to say, Jess," I told her, then left. I could hear her sputtering behind me, but I didn't look back as I dumped my garbage and headed out the cafeteria doors. I'd talk to her again tomorrow, maybe, but I could only listen to so much in one day. I wasn't even sure why it bothered me so much.

Map pulled out of the front pocket of my bag I bowed my head over it and followed the highlighter marks to my Biology classroom. The path led me outside twice, and I took a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air when I had the chance. Suddenly, I was very glad Edward wasn't in school today, moreso than before, because with how I was feeling I didn't think I could handle a standoff like the one he and Bella had. I didn't even know if I would smell delicious or not, but I was glad I didn't have to find out that second. Just thinking about it made the hair raise on my arms and I crossed my fingers that, somehow, I was a shield just like Bella – it would make my life so much easier.

* * *

 **AN: I have no beta, so if you see a spelling or grammatical error, if you don't mind, please tell me about it. I proofread these myself, but sometimes stuff escapes me. Please tell me what you think! Of Loretta, of the pacing, of how I characterised the few friends I had her talk to, anything! I love hearing what you guys think. Thanks for reading, thank you to everyone who has favourited and followed this story, and especially thank you to _orchidluv_ , _ElysiumPhoenix_ , and _Missymissy87_ for reviewing (since the last time I posted and thanked people). Hope everyone is having a good week.**


	4. Chapter 4

My Tuesday morning started much like my Monday. However, I remembered the importance of the weather and made sure to check outside my window as soon as I woke up. It was overcast, deeply so, the clouds roiling in the sky like the underside of dark grey ocean waves, with the sun barely showing like a dim glow behind a thick blanket. God, blankets. I wanted to go back to bed. I could see the glint of dew on the grass below, could smell it on the air as it drifted into my room, and decided it looked like rain. Why couldn't we have snow, instead? I liked snow. Okay, I liked rain too, but it was annoying because it ruined my hair even if I pulled up my hood or put on a hat, even if I used an umbrella, the moisture in the air just wrecked it no matter what.

I showered, did my makeup, and picked an outfit all in the span of a half-an-hour. Lip gloss and a thin wing of eyeliner paired with a comfy pair of jeans, striped long sleeve shirt, and hooded sweater, and I was ready to face the day. Sure, it wasn't as fancy as my ensemble from the day before, but it was a smidgen more comfortable. My hair, like before, I kept loose with an asymmetrical part, and it fell to the small of my back in thick waves.

Like I said, my hair was my one constant point of vanity.

I took a couple more minutes in the bathroom to stare myself down in the mirror, straightening my clothes and fluffing my hair and telling myself I wasn't going to get eaten to death. I could do it, I was prepared, I could beat them. The Plot, the Main Characters, I was ready to face it all. Screw their vampire magic and their centuries of knowledge and their money and their influence, I was one woman trapped in the frail body of a seventeen year old girl with an arsenal of sarcasm and top-40 hit singles.

Breakfast was a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee, the latter drank defiantly in the face of Charlie-Dad's disapproving look. What, I was old enough for coffee, okay? Even if the whole reincarnation thing was ignored, seventeen was definitely old enough to be drinking coffee in the mornings.

I drove along towards Forks High, the radio blaring perhaps a little too loudly, and pulled into a corner spot once I made it into the parking lot. Music cut from the speakers but continued, instrumental and all, in my mind as forced my gaze to pass casually over the other cars in the lot.

Lyrics of a pop ballad from an artist who hadn't yet gotten their break made concentration difficult. I was just looking to see the types of cars people drove here, I wasn't going to do anything with the information. What would I even do, anyway, there was absolutely nothing interesting about the types of cars in the parking lot. Nope, absolutely nothing. There were at least three other pickup trucks, a few Hondas I only recognized by the decal on the grill, twenty-ish vehicles I couldn't hope to know the names of, and a shiny new Volvo. Ah, not a Buick then, a Volvo.

Shit. Nothing interesting about that at all! Who cared about one, shiny Volvo? Buick, Volvo, probably some rich kids owned it. The song continued, louder and at a faster tempo than normal, as I let my inspection of the lot fade into the back of my head. There was nobody standing near the new car, nor were there any people inside it, and I felt the fluttering of my pulse in my neck slow down.

I sighed a long, exaggerated sigh and stepped out of my truck onto the pavement. I was still stuck on what to name it. Should I even name it? It was just a truck, and perhaps naming it would be a little too cliche at that point. I hadn't ever named my cars or electronics before, why did I think I needed to name the truck? My eyes were peeled for people who could be loitering in the lot and I headed to the clustered buildings of the school. Any people, not specific people, except maybe Angela or Paige.

What other specific people would I look for, anyway?

I got to English with five minutes to spare and saw Paige wasn't sitting next to me. I thought, for a moment, that she might've gotten sick. Another thought, deep and fleeting, was that something supernatural might've gotten her, but I tamped that down as quickly as I could. Before I could freak out and look around for any rogue mind readers who could have heard me, I caught sight of Paige talking to Mr. Mason at his desk. She handed him a piece of paper before coming back and taking her spot on my right.

"What was that about?" I asked.

She busied herself with her notebooks and said, "Oh, me and my family are going on vacation in a few weeks, I have to give all my teachers a note about it."

I nodded. We talked for a little as stragglers filed into the room and took their places. She asked what happened between me and Jess at lunch the day before, because apparently the whole school knew about my dramatic departure from the table even though it wasn't that dramatic to begin with. I told her that Jess had said some ignorant, hurtful shit, and she scoffed and asked me why I had expected any different from her. I didn't know, I simply shrugged. I brought another pop song to my thoughts and put the rest of my attention on Mr. Mason, who was beginning the lesson by pacing dramatically at the front of the classroom.

* * *

Alice Cullen was in my art class.

I'd like to say I hardly noticed and didn't make a big deal out of it, just saw her out of the corner of my eye and went on with my life, but that's not what happened. The moment I stepped across the threshold into room 201B my eyes were drawn to her like high-powered magnets to a 50s refrigerator, immediate and immensely strong. She sat to the side, near the back, and had a sketchbook folded open on the desk in front of her.

That's not what I saw at first glance. It wasn't even her clothes, which I could tell were high-end even without visible labels or logos scrawled across them. No, the first thing I noticed about Alice Cullen – catalogued, really, as I went to my seat and plopped down next to Angie – was that she was short.

I couldn't make an accurate guess as to her actual height, seeing as she was sitting down, but I didn't bet money on her surpassing five feet. I couldn't see her eyes from my angle, but her skin was the palest I'd ever seen. She wasn't white like chalk, no, but her skin resembled paper more than peach, and though I couldn't see any veins in her hands she had the greyest blue undertone. Her hair was cropped close to her head, more boyish than pixie-like, stuck out in a way that somehow managed to be stylish, and was the colour of the purest dark chocolate I'd ever tasted.

It had been 98% cacao, from Peru.

She looked up, then, not in my direction but it was enough that I whirled back around and ducked my head as quickly as I could. I knew it was futile, that she'd have seen me looking, but it was instinctive. The short glimpse I got of her face showed small, delicate features and deep amber eyes with even deeper purple smudges beneath them. She looked like someone who hadn't slept in months.

At least her eyes weren't red. No matter who she was or wasn't dating, Alice Cullen was still a vegetarian. Which, hopefully, meant the rest of her coven was too.

I nudged Angie lightly on the arm, careful not to catch any of her hair, "Who is that girl?"

"Which girl?" She asked.

"Over there, off to the side," I said, pointing behind my hand, "the one by herself."

Angie looked over my shoulder and understanding passed over her face, "That's Alice Cullen."

"The Cullens from the lunch table," I said, and it wasn't really a question.

"Yeah."

I turned to look at her again, Alice Cullen, the first va- the first Cullen I'd ever seen, and my heart stopped before skittering forward like a jackhammer in my chest.

She was looking right at me.

Raw honey and fresh soil met, and I felt all the blood drain from my face. Screw subtlety, screw caution, I could no better control that reaction than I could hold in a sneeze or not feel weird when I thought about breathing. I was frozen, staring her straight in the eyes, because Alice Cullen was the most gorgeous, breathtaking, _terrifying_ girl I'd ever seen. Forget looking like a predator, like a lion or some other big cat, she was scary in the way black ice was scary, in the way walking home at night was scary, in the way being alone in the woods was scary. Scary, not because of what was there, but because of what could be there. Scary because of the way dread was all encompassing when you were by yourself. There was a long lost, vestigial, lizard-brain part of me that knew, viscerally, how easy it would be for her to rip me apart.

My eyes must've been saucers, but Alice didn't appear perturbed. No, instead of frown or scrunch her brows in confusion, like surely most anyone else would have, she smiled. Her teeth were almost as frightening as the rest of her, perfectly white and perfectly straight, glistening oddly against gums that looked cold and sickly. Those teeth could tear my jugular right out of my neck.

There was a lump in my throat, halfway between my stomach and my mouth. I swallowed thickly around it and, finally remembering to breathe, smiled back, giving her a little wave before turning back around. I looked over to Angela, but it didn't seem like she noticed anything off about the exchange. It only took a few seconds in retrospect, but those seconds had dragged on and on and my heart was only then slowing down to a normal pace.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so naive, so cocky? These were centuries old supernatural entities specifically designed to kill human beings. Why did I think I could outsmart them? Why did I think an occasional roll of a die and a bit of humming would be worthy defence against powers I couldn't truly wrap my head around? It was pointless! Edward had probably already heard my frantic thoughts during that interaction with Alice, when I was too shocked by her otherworldly appearance to hide them. Hell, late at night I'd considered what being a vampire would be like so many times Alice had probably foreseen me integrating myself into their lives. I wasn't that clever! I wasn't that smart! I bet they already planned to interrogate me about everything and-

My head was throbbing, my eyes were dry from how hard I'd been staring into the distance, and my jaw was sore from clenching. I had to think rationally about it. I couldn't go off the deep-end, I'd had enough freakouts over my predicament to last a lifetime and there was no excuse to add another to my tally. Okay, maybe seeing _one of them_ for the first time was a good excuse, but it was time to pull myself together. I could do this. Alice hadn't looked worried or angry, so obviously she hadn't seen me do anything stupid, and I bet if Eddie had heard anything incriminating in my thoughts he'd use some weird magic to let his siblings know.

I took a deep breath, held it for a count of five, and let it out.

"Are you okay?"

I jumped a bit in my seat, Angie's question had startled me, "Yeah, I'm good."

"Okay," she said, not a trace of doubt in her tone. She was so trusting it worried me sometimes.

Although, as I settled in to listen to Ms. Howe talk about colour theory, I realized I hadn't exactly been lying. I'd had a little meltdown, but I worked through it, I got past it. I could do this. I could get through the day, I told myself, I could keep my composure and keep the Cullens off my trail.

If only I could believe myself as easily as Angela did.

* * *

Jess caught up with me in Trig. She'd come in maybe a minute after I'd sat down in my corner spot and made a beeline for me, actually setting her bag down and taking a seat. I raised my eyebrows. We had, maybe, five or ten minutes before Mr. Varner would actually get on with the class and start telling people to be quiet, though I was still curious why she'd appeared out of nowhere. She looked agitated, no, awkward, she looked awkward and a little nervous, picking at her fingernails and darting her eyes basically anywhere but at my face. I could have spoken first, broken the cloying silence, but I wanted to see what she would do.

Eventually she took a deep breath and said, "Look, I'm sorry."

I just raised my brows even higher, "For what?"

"For what I said yesterday, about the Cullens," she said, and lowered her voice when she noticed our teacher come in, "It obviously made you mad and that's not what I wanted. I want us to be friends."

I wondered, for a split second, how condescending I should be in this conversation. On one hand, I was surprised she even approached me about this, considering what I'd seen of her personality. On the other, I wasn't even sure if she knew why I was so angry about it. I didn't even know why I was so angry about it.

I decided to just ask her, "Do you know _why_ I was so mad?"

"No, not really," she said, not looking contrite about that part, "I mean, I guess it was kinda rude, like you said, but I don't get why it bothered you so much. You don't even know them."

Shit. How could I salvage this? How could I salvage it and also get her to understand.

"It wasn't what you said about foster kids, though that was pretty bad, but what you said about Mrs. Cullen was just..." I trailed off, trying to find the words, "If it's even true, is it really any of our business? She's probably really sensitive about it, how do you think she'd like hearing a bunch of people gossiping about it?"

Jess looked a little confused, "It's not like she goes to our school or, hell, even goes out. How would she know what we say about her?"

"This is a small town, Jess," I deadpanned, "I'm sure you know how rumours travel."

That gave her pause. She seemed to mull it over for a minute before she started again, "Okay, yeah, I can see what you mean. But you just stormed off, okay? It was weird. It has to be more than just that."

She really liked calling things weird, I noticed. Mr. Varner looked about ready to start, but a group of boys on the other side of the room were yelling at each other and I decided he probably wouldn't notice our whispers as he tried to deal with them. I scrunched my mouth up and thought about it for a minute, why it bothered me, and said, "I dunno, Jess, you just... you made it sound so _bad_ , that she couldn't have kids. Like that somehow made her less of a person. Having kids isn't the only thing a woman's good for, you know? I doubt you meant it like that, but..."

"Oh... of course, I mean, like, you're right, obviously," she muttered, also keeping an eye on our teacher, "I didn't, mean it like _that_ , I mean. I just, uh, I wanted to tell you, I thought you'd be interested."

She got me there. If I were being honest with myself, which sucked, I probably would've been interested had it been about anyone but the Cullens. Sure, I would've had the same objections about her tone of voice, but I just liked knowing things about people – even if I didn't know the people in question. Hell, the only reason I was so offended on their behalf, besides the fact that Esme was supposed to be a saint, was that I wanted to be in their good graces if I ever ended up interacting with them.

"I'm sorry for storming off," I said, "I should've just told you what was bothering me."

Jess looked as though she hadn't been expecting my apology, "Well, I probably should be a bit more sensitive sometimes, I guess." She made it sound like such a hardship.

"So, are we good?" I asked softly.

She nodded, "Yeah, we're good."

"Good."

* * *

Paige was meeting with her music teacher to do some sort of instrument test she'd miss while she was on vacation, so I sat with Angela and Jessica and their friends again. I tried not to hold it against her, Paige, for breaking her promise from the day before, since whatever that test was it sounded important. I did, a little bit, but I told myself I wouldn't mention it.

On the bright side, sitting with Angela and Jessica and their friends gave me a prime view of the Cullens. Okay, maybe that wasn't the bright side, but it was the interesting side.

I'd had part of art and all of Trig and Spanish to process Alice and her ethereal looks, so I wasn't as blindsided by the rest of the Cullens when I saw them at their lunch table. Like Alice, their skin was pale and there were bruise-like circles under their eyes, eyes which were all the same raw-honey colour as their sibling's. Their facial features were all different, obviously, but were perfectly symmetrical, as though they had been carved from marble by a renaissance sculptor and had life breathed into them by Aphrodite – or, you know, something else just as ridiculous and cliche.

I worked really hard not to compare them to their book descriptions. I could do that later, when I was far away from the ind-may eader-ray. I, carefully, in as natural a way as I could imagine, took them in.

There was another song I'd started up, something pop-y with a bass drop, and I concentrated on enunciating the lyrics in my mind the exact way they'd been sung in the original recording. Idly, I agreed that Edward's hair was more of a bronze than a red or a brown, despite how pretentious it sounded when applied to a real-life person.

There were several conversations happening around my own table. Everyone was engrossed in what they were doing, talking, eating, and, in Lauren's case, braiding her hair back. Jess was on my left, Eric on my right, and Angie was across from me. As if Jess were the one with mind-reading powers, called when I thought of her, she poked me in the leg underneath the table.

"Those are the Cullens," she said, head inclined in their direction but eyes held on me.

I nodded, and dared a quick look; bronze-haired boy was looking back at us. It was hard not to stare back, my seat at the table guaranteed I was facing them, but I kept the glance natural as I looked back to Jess, "Alice is in my second period, but who're the others? Which face goes with which name?"

"Rosalie is the other girl, the blonde," there was that snide tone again, "Emmett's the really buff one next to her, and Jasper is on her other side. Edward is the one between Alice and Jasper. Him and Alice are juniors, but all the rest of them are seniors."

The song was still playing, but the rest of my thoughts were getting away from me. I kept trying to cut them off before they got totally out of control, fell into dangerous territory, but have you ever tried to cut off your own thoughts? It's hard. I thought about the weather, then, whether or not I thought it would rain, how I hoped it would snow soon because I loved the cold and the snow and-

I said the most innocuous Cullen-related thing I could think of, "They're all really hot."

"Yes!" Jess giggled, "They don't date, though. Well, except Rosalie and Emmett, they date each other – you remember. It's like they don't think normal people are good enough or something."

I gave her a look, side-eyed.

"Sorry," she muttered, embarrassed to be chastised.

Jess went on, then, about other kids that were single or dating or thought they were too good for everyone else or something. I hate to say it, but I wasn't paying her that much attention anymore. I was too busy trying to contain my spiralling thoughts.

I'd thought I'd have it under control. I thought, when I was actually faced with a dire need to sing in my goddamn head, I could keep it up. I could, that wasn't the problem, the problem was I couldn't keep it consistent. My runaway thoughts kept breaking in, aborted mentions of the Cullens' names and weird curiosities about their lifestyle and what exactly they could do, and I was doing my best to keep it was vague as possible but I was losing the plot. Not The Plot, no, if only I could lose that, life would be a lot less stressful. That exact moment would be a lot more bearable if I just _didn't know._

I was overcome, then, with a burning need _to_ know. I needed to know if he could read my mind.

I'd been sending little glances up to their table from my sandwich every so often and, except for a twitch of Edward's head and a nearly imperceptible flicker of Alice's eyes, they hadn't looked back at our group since that first almost stare-down I had with Edward earlier. I noticed Rosalie's lips moving quickly, nearly a blur, and Edward's moving in return. They were having a secret conversation, I mean, that's what it looked like, but of course that was impossible because their lips were moving just too fast for that to be the case.

No, I couldn't do it. It was driving me up the wall, so far up the goddamn wall I was on the ceiling, perched there, still watching the Cullens. I had to know if his sleazy little mind was all up in my thoughts.

Suddenly I was struck with what could possibly be the worst plan to have ever been devised. It would either go horribly wrong and send the Cullens running for the hills or it would prove I was a shield. I shouldn't, I really shouldn't, but I was getting a headache from all the different trains of thought I kept derailing and Kygo was It Ain't Me-ing much too loudly between my ears and there was no conceivable way I could keep doing that for two years. I didn't have the willpower. I also didn't have the impulse control to avoid my horrible plan.

Years of practice, years of planning, were going to go down the drain, but I couldn't bring myself to care as much as I should have. I just wanted to be out of supernatural limbo. I didn't want to live in a constant state of anxiety, not knowing if I was safe in my own head or not. I thought I could do it, I thought I could handle it, but I was wrong – not knowing was unbearable. For an instant I wished I'd stayed in Arizona with Renee-Mom; the heat was horrible but at least I didn't have to worry about a family of sparkly blood suckers.

What was the worst they could do, really? They wouldn't chance a massacre, not with all these witnesses, and then the fallout they'd have to deal with, oh no, they'd be much better off trying to kill me when I was all alone somewhere. Which I also hoped they wouldn't do. Carlisle wouldn't approve anyway, would he? Of just murdering me in cold blood? No, see, I was probably fine. I _would be_ fine. They worst they could do would be run away in the night and never return.

Which might also suck, because then I'd never have a chance at getting a supernatural take on my little rebirth issue, but that was a risk I was willing to take. I was simply too impatient to think of another plan.

Eyes fixed on Edward, ready to watch any change in his appearance or his actions or just in how relaxed he looked – he looked fairly relaxed, for reference – I cut off the mental singing and cleared the rest of my thoughts away. Then, as if I had lungs to scream at the top of in my head, I tried to think one phrase as loudly as I had ever thought in my life.

 _EDWARD CULLEN IS A VAMPIRE!_

* * *

 **AN: Next chapter is going to be an Edward POV. Hopefully I don't fuck that up too badly! Once again, I don't have a beta, so please tell me if you see any errors. Thank you so much to everyone who's followed and favourited! Another big thanks to _orchidluv_ , _Missymissy87_ , and _lucefatale_ for reviewing chapter three. Reviews really brighten my day, so it means a lot that you guys take the time to write them. **


	5. Chapter 5

**AN1: You'll recognize a couple dialogue beats and situations from Midnight Sun, but I didn't directly copy/paste any of it. Still, if you recognize it, it obviously isn't mine. Just thought I'd add this disclaimer here. I read Midnight Sun to get a feel for Edward and wow, he's very... melodramatic.**

* * *

To Edward Cullen, high school was a purgatory unlike any other. Though he could not get tired in the traditional sense, the thoughts of a hundred-or-so students buffeting him from all sides was exhausting; he wished he could take a nap. He viewed the thoughts of teenagers with the same sort of ambivalence one might foist upon a fruit fly trailing about one's head – they were dull, unimportant, and repetitive, and the only reason he paid any attention to them at all was that they were much too irritating to completely tune out.

He wished, suddenly, that the weather had deigned to stay sunny for the rest of the week, just so he wouldn't have to put up with the monotony of learning things he'd learned a hundred times before and hearing thoughts he'd heard even more than that. Yesterday had been perfect. He and his family had gone far up into the mountains to hunt and returned, sated and relaxed, as the sun was sinking below the horizon. Emmett and Jasper, his two brothers, had wrestled after Jasper had stolen Emmett's bear right out from under him and, much to the larger boy's chagrin, Jasper had taken a landslide victory.

Emmett was still thinking about it, Edward noticed, carefully planning a rematch now he wasn't so thirsty and focused on the hunt. He would most likely lose, again; Jasper was the best fighter in their family and brute strength on its own wouldn't come close to defeating him. Unfortunate for Emmett, whose brute strength was his most prized asset.

Though he did his best not to listen to his family's thoughts he still wasn't able to totally block anyone out. Almost one hundred years and still, he struggled when someone's mind was just a bit too loud or a little abnormal or had any other defining characteristic – people who meditated, for instance, were nice when he was used to them, but distracting when the streamlined nature of their thoughts broke through the usual chatter. Edward could suppress his ability by focusing intently on something else, but there was always the chance for a stray thought from some teenaged drama-queen to bluster into his awareness and bore him to a second death.

Which was exactly what happened. From two tables away came the high soprano of some girl's mental voice, _I should point them out to Etta, she was asking about them yesterday._ Thoughts didn't often come in full sentences, more a collage of words and feelings and considered actions, but Edward had gotten enough practice that he could parse them together into something that mimicked spoken conversation.

Etta. Loretta Swan, Chief Swan's daughter, yes, the school had been in a flurry for the last few weeks as the news of her arrival spread from person to person. She'd lived most of her life in Forks, from what Edward had picked up, and moved away only a few years before the Cullens themselves had moved in.

Many of the students had memories of a tanned little girl with blonde braided pigtails, face freckled and chubby in the cheeks, smiling as she invited them to play schoolyard games or gave them advice or, in the case of June Richardson, punched a man in the crotch and screamed for help after he tried to lure the younger girl to his car. It was that last memory, half-thought maybe four days ago in a conversation Edward couldn't help but overhear, that piqued his interest for longer than he liked to admit. Of course, Loretta Swan was the child of law enforcement, she would have been warned of a great many things by her father and taught to respond accordingly. Once he figured that out, over a span shorter than a human blink, he fell back into beleaguered indifference; there was nothing all that interesting about her, she had been an astute kid, who cared?

Now, though, his attention was drawn by Jessica Stanley and her almost obsessive observation of him and his was pointing them out and murmuring their names to the girl who sat next to her, though he was able to hear as well as if she'd been yelling in his ear. He watched the replay of the exchange the two girls had about his family the day before, brought to the forefront of Jessica's mind by their proximity, and felt his lips twitch down in a minute frown. He was so, unbelievably tired of these children and their harsh, invasive judgements.

Edward was mildly surprised at the reaction Loretta had to Jessica's words, which he could see in exquisite detail as the curly-haired brunette was still thinking about it. _I can't believe I had to apologize about that,_ her eyes were tight with annoyance only a vampire would be able to see, _she doesn't even know them, it's ridiculous. Oh, whatever, I handled it fine._

With that, left disliking Jessica Stanley even more than before, Edward let his gaze move on to the new girl. Their eyes met, burnished gold and roasted walnut, and he was startled by the moment of utter silence that befell him. Not over his ears, no, the cafeteria was as noisy as ever, but over his mind. The girl looked away and said something about their looks to Jessica. He would've paid more attention, except he was revelling in the absolute nothing he was getting from her. He realized he was staring and languidly moved his eyes over to Alice, who promptly thought a question directly at him.

 _What's wrong?_ She thought, her head tilted to the side so slightly a human wouldn't have noticed.

He made a tiny shake of his head, but that was enough to catch the attention of the rest of his siblings. It was probably nothing, maybe Loretta Swan was exceptionally air-headed and that was why he hadn't heard anything from her. No, he'd noticed her wit in the memories and thoughts of others, that couldn't be it.

Rosalie, always strangely perceptive, shot a look between him and the new girl and pitched her voice too low for humans to hear, "Do we have a problem?"

"Give me a moment," He replied at the same decibel level.

He chanced another look towards the girl and, as her eyes were down on her tray, studied her a moment. Loretta was of average height, at least sitting down, and wore her honey blonde hair loose and brushed over one shoulder. She still had that smattering of freckles from childhood and her skin held a dark tan, which only served to offer comparison to wide-set, deep brown eyes. There was absolutely nothing special about her, not in her features, not in her choice of attire, not in the way she held herself. Nothing.

Yet, when he strained to match the low, clear voice from her throat to the myriad mental voices flitting through the air, that's all he found. Nothing. She was a blank slate, a person-shaped collection of absolute nothingness sat in the middle of a high school cafeteria. That had never happened before, he had never been unable to read someone.

Edward frowned in earnest, but was quick to wipe the expression from his face when the girl in question looked up again. She did that, switching between he and his siblings and the food on her tray for a couple minutes, then stilled. He watched as she paled, colour draining from her oval-shaped face, and wondered what could have her so afraid. That's what it was, he was sure. He tried to read Jasper, a subtle skim past the thirst and the self-doubt, but he wasn't getting anything that felt like fear. Was Jasper unable to read her as well? Was he just not paying her any attention?

Loretta was scared, no matter what Jasper did or did not feel, but of what?

Perhaps she was more in-tune with her instincts than most and was able to sense the danger they posed. It would explain the fear, sure, but not the silence, silence that turned from peaceful to suffocating the more frustrated Edward got.

Loretta's head jerked up and she was staring, eyes wider than seemed comfortable. Not at him, but in his direction. She was still pale and, with his enhanced eyesight, he noticed she was shaking – not that another human would notice, but it was obvious to those who weren't. Human, that is. She let her attention wander after a while but kept sending them curious glances all through lunch, like she was searching for something, like she was asking him a question he, for once, couldn't hear.

Lunch was over before he could break through the strange fog that had come over his abilities. It couldn't be her, if no vampire had the power to block him then he was certain no human would be able to. He would find out what was wrong with him and hear her thoughts and find them immeasurably dull, he knew that. It might just take a little time.

That's what he told himself, but as he and Alice rose to dump their untouched food, his eyes were drawn once more over to the human. She didn't notice, she was engrossed in conversation with Angela Weber, and Edward watched her leave through the double doors out into the fresh air.

No matter how he strained, how focused he became on that one, insignificant human, he could not hear a thing.

* * *

Biology was the same as it had been the entire semester – tedious. Mr. Banner was an average teacher in a school full of average students, there was nothing he could bring to class that would make it entertaining for someone who had gone through medical school twice. Why did they have to do the high school thing, again? He knew it helped them blend in, but couldn't they pretend to be home-schooled once in a while? Anything to disturb the monotony of this existence.

This time, though, he had a project. He was going to figure out what was going on with Loretta Swan and her closed off mind.

Before he and his siblings had gone their separate ways, Rosalie had stopped him and brought up his odd behaviour at lunch.

"I asked before, but you didn't answer me," She snapped, "Do we have a problem?"

He kept his mind combing the thoughts of those around them, making sure they caught nothing of their conversation. It was habit, even when they talked at levels no human could hope to catch, "No, we don't."

"Does she suspect anything?" Rosalie's voice was hard and cold, like ice.

Alice stepped in before Edward could think of a convincing enough lie – no way he was telling her he couldn't read one stupid human – and put a hand on the other girl's arm, "There's nothing to worry about, I haven't seen anyone finding out. Maybe Edward just thought she was pretty."

Edward shot his adoptive sister a dark look, one Rosalie mirrored. Alice just laughed, high and bell-like, before turning on her heel and flouncing off to her class. Jasper, on the other hand, shook his head, he would've felt if his brother was thinking of the human like that, instead he muttered a goodbye with a shake of his head and headed down the opposite hall. Emmett simply shrugged.

"If you think you can jeopardize everything for one human, think again," Rosalie growled. subsonic, and one or two passers-by shrunk back even if they didn't know why they were doing so, "Just keep an ear out." With that she flipped her golden hair back and took Emmett's arm to drag him along with her out to the parking lot for their free period.

So there he was, books and pencils piled to one side of the black topped lab table, waiting for Mr. Banner to start droning on as he always did. He would be starting the unit on cells today, Edward could tell from how the man's thoughts filled with lines of slides and transparency presentations. Again, dull. How dull did someone have to be for their most prominent thoughts to be of what order to teach cell division in? There was only one order that made sense.

He made sure to look attentive, and his vampire senses made it easy to keep track of where the class was going in case Mr. Banner called on him, but that wasn't where Edward's focus was. No, he was trying to figure out what was going on with his ability. He usually considered it to be more of a curse than a gift, but he'd come to rely on it, to use it to keep his family safe, so if it were malfunctioning then that was a problem. Vampires couldn't get sick, so Edward knew it wasn't the side effect of some illness.

He would have to ask Carlisle later, he'd been around for a while. Hell, he'd stayed with the Volturi. If there was some rational explanation for his malfunctioning gift, Carlisle would know it. He just had to make it through the next two classes and he could get his answers.

Since he'd been thinking about her, when Angela Weber thought, _Where's Etta? She was with us at lunch, why isn't she in class?_ Edward had to restrain himself from turning to look in the direction the insufferable girl's name came from. Then he realized what those thoughts meant. Loretta was supposed to be in his Biology class and there was only one empty seat; the one on his right. He'd have a front row seat to try and get to the bottom of the mystery that was her mind.

Then the context of those thoughts caught up with him. She was _supposed_ to be in his Biology class. She wasn't. After that lunch period, where Jasper hadn't sensed her terror but Edward had _seen_ it on her face, where she'd spent an inordinate amount of time eyeing their table, Loretta had disappeared.

Alice said she didn't see anyone finding out, but what if she was wrong? His ability was on the fritz, what if hers was, too? What if Loretta Swan had hightailed it out of school and was on her way to tell her father, tell anybody, about the vampires she'd faced down on her second day of school? He tried to reassure himself that she wouldn't dare, that no-one would believe her if she started spouting claims of mythical monsters, but still the thought stuck with him.

What if their cover was blown, all because he had been too curious about the girl he couldn't read to tell his family there was a girl he couldn't read?

He gripped the underside of the table a bit too hard and it splintered in his hand, in the perfect impression of his fingers. No, he couldn't leave any evidence like that. He quickly dug the impressions out of the wood, leaving behind nothing but a deep divot and a pile of chips and shavings on the floor, which he spread around with his feet. He couldn't slip like that, he had to be more careful.

Edward knew he had to calm down, had to gather his thoughts and approach the situation as rationally and cautiously as he could. No matter how scared the new girl had been, vampires was not the first conclusion any reasonable, ignorant human would jump to. Like he theorized, she probably had stronger instincts than most and sensed that he and his family were dangerous, were predators, and was scared because her logic was warring against what her body was telling her. That was all. See, that made sense. He had nothing to worry about.

Then why was she not in class? The girl from everybody's memories did not look like the type to run away from a bad feeling. Especially with June Richardson's experience, Loretta Swan seemed the kind of girl to face that kind of feeling head on, maybe with a well aimed shot to the crotch.

No, he was over-thinking it. Maybe she just got sick. Humans were weak and frail and susceptible to the lowest of viruses, that was it. She just got sick.

Edward would have been able to fool himself with that for the rest of the day if, fifteen minutes into the class, Loretta hadn't knocked sheepishly on the open door and interrupted Mr. Banner as he switched the slide from an animal cell to a plant cell. She stood, studded bag hung over her shoulder, her right foot tapping the floor anxiously behind her left, a blush colouring her freckled cheeks.

"Ah, Miss. Swan, so nice of you to join us," Mr. Banner drawled, sounding more than a little unimpressed, "Late on our second day, are we?"

She ducked her head, "Sorry, Mr. Banner, it won't happen again."

The teacher was faced away from Edward towards the door where Loretta stood, so he couldn't see his face, but he got the distinct impression one of the man's eyebrows was raised, "See that it doesn't."

Loretta nodded and scurried across the room towards the only empty seat, the one beside Edward. She hurriedly pulled her books out and placed them on the desk, taking hardly another minute to flip open her spiral bound notebook and begin to write down what Mr. Banner was saying. Edward noticed that, although her words stayed perfectly between the lines, her handwriting was worse than chicken scratch – it was almost illegible. How would she study from those notes?

He must not have been as subtle as he should have been, for Loretta did a double take and noticed him looking at her. She flipped her hair back, gave him a tentative smile and a little wave of her fingers, then went right back to her impossibly bad note-taking. There was a hint of the fear he'd seen in the cafeteria, but her face did not lose its colour, her hands did not tremble, her eyes did not dart around like a prey animal surrounded. There was only a quick increase in her heart rate, which, somehow, didn't entice him as it should. Had he been mistaken? Had she not been terrified? Perhaps, he reasoned, she ate something that upset her stomach. That would explain a little bit of fear – humans dreaded getting sick – as well as her absence from the beginning of class.

There was also the faint splotching of red around her eyes and nose, indicating she'd been crying. Crying because of what? Humans sometimes were brought to tears when the retched, perhaps that was the issue.

Edward took a soft inhale through his nose, trying to detect any scent of illness or vomit or the cold sweat sick people tended to wick. Nothing, just like when he had tried to listen for her thoughts, and he was about to let that theory die and go back to probing at her mind when he stilled.

There wasn't just an absence of sick-smell. There was an absence of smell, period.

He took another, deeper breath. There, he detected layers of scents; a tangy citrus, shampoo; a hint of something like patchouli and roses, perfume; cloying mint whenever she exhaled, her toothpaste. Those were all the sorts of smells humans carried on them everyday, but those weren't what were missing. Underneath that, the layers of the artificial made strong enough for humans' dull senses, each person had a delicious, human blood-smell to them. It differed, changing from human to human, but each one smelled like food no matter the scents they wore to mask it.

Except for Loretta Swan. She hardly had a scent, save the layers she'd applied herself.

Edward took another breath, however it must have been too loud because the girl in question looked at him from the corner of her eye in confusion. He had to calm down. It was odd, sure, perhaps thought to be impossible, but it wasn't the end of the world. He focused, and he found the faintest hint of something that smelled like dust and rain mixing together on a wooden porch. There, her scent was there, it was just... muted. Unnaturally so.

Was she not human?

No, she had to be, she looked and moved and spoke just like every other human he'd ever seen. She had all the same imperfections, the same human noises came from her body, she walked and wrote and apologized to Mr. Banner in the same clumsy way all humans did those things. There had to be a simpler explanation.

He noticed he hadn't moved at all, had sat like a stone, for far too long, and fidgeted at a human speed in his seat to get the rhythm back. Humans couldn't sit like that, like stone statues, they had to shuffle around every once in a while, had to blink, had to swallow. Edward did all three. He took note of the fact that his throat did not burn to the degree he expected, not after taking in a human's scent so intently.

The parched, rough feeling never really went away, it only lessened after they fed. He had memories, from decades ago, of the thirst receding completely after he'd glutted himself on human blood, but he did his best to forget those years, not to tempt himself. For a moment, he allowed himself to think that Loretta didn't smell like a meal because he'd fed less than twenty-four hours before. Sure, it had been on a deer, but it curbed the need and kept him going.

That wasn't it, though. The rest of the humans in the room still smelled, well, _delicious._ His fist clenched a second time, only now it was around nothing, as he let himself catch the scent of a boy, George Hooper, who'd just walked in front of him on his way to the washroom. Immediately the dry ache returned, reminding him just how easy it would be to stand and stop that boy from leaving, to lean down over that boy, tilt his head back, to-

Edward stopped breathing, then. Usually he wouldn't devolve into fantasy, but he usually didn't purposefully inhale a mouthful of any one human's scent as part of an experiment. He was happy with his lifestyle, he wasn't a monster, he didn't need human blood.

The phenomenon was all Loretta Swan, then. He sniffed the air around her again, still nothing but artificial layers and the faintest hint of dust-and-rain-on-wood; nothing about her smelled like food, like a meal, nothing about her smelled appetizing in the least. It was like getting a whiff of a piece of furniture sprayed with a nice perfume; it was alright, but that was it. No matter how nice a sofa smelled, he didn't suddenly want to take a bite out of it.

Her mysterious scent didn't explain why she had been crying, but then again, why did humans ever cry. Something could have upset her after she'd left the cafeteria. Maybe someone had teased her, maybe she was just missing her friends from her old school. It was incredibly aggravating, having to guess, not being able to look into Loretta Swan's head and just take answers he wanted out of it.

Edward resolved to tell his siblings about the strange human girl. He'd reveal he couldn't hear her thoughts, get a bit of a telling-off for hiding it at lunch, and then get them to see if they had the same reaction to her.

One way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of the mystery that was Loretta Swan.

* * *

 **AN2: Would you guys like to see more POVs from different characters? If so, who? What do you think of the story so far? What do you think will happen next? Please share your thoughts! Thank you to _simbacurls_ and _orchidluv_ (and you're so great, orchid, reviewing every chapter, it really makes my day) for their reviews, and an extra thanks to _SummerParamour_ for their long one! Hope everyone has a good weekend.**


	6. Chapter 6

After thinking very, very hard about vampires and Edward being one in his general direction, nothing happened. I was watching and he'd had no reaction. Of course, it crossed my mind that he was an exceptional actor, but then I remembered he hadn't been able to pretend he didn't want to kill Bella for an hour. So that idea was off the table.

Once lunch had ended I ran out to my truck and sat in the cab for a while. I turned the radio up so high the bass rocked the suspension and two girls smoking a shared cigarette in their car gave me dirty looks. I stayed there well into Biology because I couldn't face him, I couldn't face the fact that I'd thrown all my careful planning away in a millisecond.

I convinced myself that if the Cullens didn't come out to my truck en masse and _take care of me_ then Edward couldn't possibly have read my thoughts. I waited, too. I gave them a good ten minutes to get their shit together and come maul me to death.

When I thought I was safe, about to get out of the truck and brush everything off and go to class, that's when Rosalie and Emmett came out of the cafeteria building and started walking towards my car.

I stilled.

Of course, Rosalie was cold, closed-off, hardly cared about anyone, she could end me and not even bat an eyelash, she didn't care. I was vibrating in my seat, and even though it wouldn't keep them out I flipped the lock on the driver's side door. I clenched my eyes shut, I waited for one of them to wrench the door off its hinges and tear me from the cab and snap my neck. No, too obvious. They would break the lock and climb in and make me drive off, to some remote location, to the middle of the woods, to a place where they could kill me in secret. I held my breath, I held my fists tight in my lap, I held back my tears.

I waited.

It was stupid to cry, it wouldn't do anything, it wouldn't stop them, but I cried anyway. I couldn't hold it, the tears spilled over. I felt like I was choking, on air, on spit, on my own bad decisions. I was so scared. I couldn't remember my first death, I couldn't remember what it felt like, if there was an afterlife, there was just a blur of half-formed images and then being born. Was there anything between that? I didn't... I didn't want to die again. I didn't want to go through growing up, through loving another set of parents, I didn't want any of it.

I waited.

I didn't want to disappear, either. All of this, every moment of my life as Loretta Jane Swan just cemented how important memories were to someone's being. What if I was born again, but forgot? What if I was just a baby next time? What if everything I ever was disappeared and withered and died?

I waited.

Nothing came. I peeped through half-raised lids and saw them, right there, right in front of my truck – my pulse was staccato in my neck and I readied myself, sent an apology to Charlie-Dad and Renee-Mom that their daughter was going to go missing, that they'd have to deal with that loss. I tried to relax my muscles, because I figured a mauling would be like a car crash and hurt more if you tensed up. I waited for them to turn, to come straight for me, but they didn't. Emmett and Rosalie didn't even look at me, didn't even glance in my direction, they just kept walking across the parking lot to their Volvo and leaned against the far side, the side I couldn't see all that well.

I waited again, maybe they come back around or get in their car and smash me with it; they didn't. They just stayed where they were, not giving me a modicum of attention.

With hand so shaky it was nearly a blur, I unlocked the door. My cheeks were damp, tears were falling onto my shirt, smearing my eyeliner; I felt snot dribbling down my lip and I wiped my nose on the back of my sleeve. I was careful to be quiet, not to choke out a desperate noise, because then they would hear me and their attention would be drawn and they might decide to _do something._

I slid, trembling, with knees like pudding, out onto the pavement and did my best to walk at a leisurely pace towards Building 2. I missed the door handle twice, my hand slamming into the glass before I could get a grip and open the goddamn door. Once inside I struggled to keep myself from looking back, from checking that Rosalie and Emmett weren't right behind me getting ready to strike. I hissed in a shuddery breath and ducked into the bathroom.

There were seven stalls painted a greyed-out pink, a big sink with a foot pedal at the bottom to turn it on, and a long mirror hung along the wall. That last bit is what I headed for, the mirror. I examined my reflection and hoped to high heaven no one had seen me during my trek from the parking lot – I was a mess. I'd been right in guessing my eyeliner was smeared; there was no saving it, it was nothing more than a black streak going diagonally across my face. I took a makeup wipe out of my bag and cleaned my face up, wiped off the eyeliner and the tear marks and the snot that had been collecting on my lip, then went over to the sink and splashed myself with some cool water.

I wouldn't be able to hide that I'd been crying from vampires, not if they looked hard enough, but I could hide from other nosey humans.

The girl in the reflection seemed a lot more composed after a little bit of waiting, so I gave her another five minutes before turning away. I dabbed at my eyes with a wet paper towel in hopes it would ease the puffy-ness and let out a deep sigh. I made it. I'd gone through with my hasty plan and, somehow, it didn't blow up in my face.

My reaction blew up in my face, my emotions exploded all over the place and my stress was sky-high, but no vamps had decided to hunt me down.

It appeared that I, like Bella, was a shield. Either that or Edward was a better actor than good ol' Meyer described. A better actor, and one who didn't tell his family about the girl think-screaming in the lunch room. Or he was biding his time, waiting, coming up with a plan to save his skin and protect his family and _get rid of me._ I shoved that thought away.

I couldn't avoid class any longer, not if I didn't want Charlie-Dad getting a phone call from the school asking why his daughter was skipping classes on her second day.

Biology itself was pretty uneventful... for the first little while. My seat was, of course, right beside Edward, and I'd done my best to hold my head high as I took it. I greeted him with a small wave when I caught his eye, taking note that they were still golden and he had no trace of a scowl on his face, and was aware of his presence like a mouse was aware of a cat. Which is how I caught the sniff. That's right. Edward Cullen had motherfucking goddamn, goddamn motherfucking smelled me. He actually did that. I wouldn't even have noticed if he'd bothered being subtle about it – maybe he tried – but the classroom was quiet and I was hyper-aware of his presence on my left. I heard it, I heard that pointed whoosh of air as his stupid little vampy nostrils sucked up my smell.

I barely kept myself from jumping out of my seat and running for the door. Sure, if he'd really wanted to eat me he could've caught me, but I figured I'd have had the element of surprise. Nope, nope, I couldn't do it, I should've stayed in the bathroom and hid for the rest of my godforsaken life – but if I did that, well... he knew I noticed. I, like him, apparently, was not subtle. I felt I deserved a bit of a break, though, taking into account the state of unease I was trying to contain. Still, if I ran away because he sniffed me, then he wouldn't have to read my mind to realize I knew something was up with him.

His eyes were gold, and that was the only thing that kept my mood from shifting back into sheer terror.

I took my notes but didn't absorb anything Mr. Banner said, just wrote to busy my hands. The minutes dragged on, dragged like a man drags himself along the ground because his legs have been chopped off. Edward said nothing, not one word, but he kept _looking._ I kept trying to _not look_ in return, but my eyes had minds of their own and would flicker back to his startlingly perfect face every so often.

When class ended Edward leisurely collected his belongings and, still not speaking, still _looking_ , motioned for me to leave before he did. I considered whether it would be smart to show a vampire my back, but rationalized that he didn't need that to have the jump on me; I sped along to Gym and finally succeeded in my _not looking_.

Gym itself was a disaster, though it was one that flew by in the blink of an eye. In my distracted state, for I was still pondering that hearty sniff, his mind reading, Rosalie and Emmett in the parking lot, I lobbed a volleyball over the length of the gymnasium and could do nothing but watch as it whacked Tristan Micheals in the back of the head. I was benched after that. I would've been embarrassed, except I was to occupied with gnawing on my fingernails and jumping every time the gym doors opened.

When the period was over I didn't even bother showering, just picked up all my shit and rushed out into the fresh air. I didn't dare look over to where I knew the Cullen's Volvo was parked, only stared straight at my rusty orange pickup until I reached it. My drive home was, thankfully, uneventful. The only thing that could even begin to be described as exciting was the pattern of static that came over the radio in the middle of a top-40 countdown.

At home I sped up to my room and settled in to do my homework, working Extremely Hard not to think of anything that had happened in Biology or the bathroom or the parking lot or the cafeteria. It took my an hour to get through the five Trig problems Varner assigned.

Dinner that night was a small, two-portion roast Charlie-Dad had done in the microwave. We sat together at the kitchen table in silence, though it wasn't comfortable like it usually was. No, those nerves, the ones from lunch, from Biology, from sitting in my truck in the parking lot, came clawing back up my spine full force. I didn't really eat, just pushed the food around my plate.

Charlie-Dad noticed.

"So, how was your second day?" He asked carefully, "Make any new friends? Meet any old ones?"

I swallowed thickly around nothing, "Uh, you remember Paige Flanagan, right, from elementary school?"

He nodded.

"Well, she's in my English and my Spanish... and, um, Angie Weber's in my art. We talked a bit, y'know, she told me how her mom's doing. She introduced me to Jessica Stanley – we went to elementary together but we didn't talk – and she's in my Trig, my Spanish, and my Gym..." I trailed off, lost in my own ageing panic about the Cullens.

"Angela's a good kid," Charlie-Dad said, "And her mother's been getting better for a while now, the whole town is happy for it."

I took a hesitant bite of roast. I was waffling, did I want to bring up the Cullens? I knew Charlie-Dad was fond of them, and people talking bad of them was a sore spot. Did I want to make him even a little disappointed in me?

"Are you okay, Etta?"

I opened my mouth to say I was fine, to tell him everything was perfect, that nothing was wrong, but all the words got caught.

Charlie-Dad noticed, "Did something happen at school today?"

"No, no, everything's good."

He didn't look convinced. One eyebrow raised, he fixed me with an expression that was part concern and part disbelief.

I sighed, "I dunno. It's just... there's these kids at school, the Cullens, they don't... people aren't very nice to them, they talk about 'em all the time."

"People in this town," Charlie-Dad frowned, his moustache twitching in irritation, "I'm telling you, Etta, those kids are polite and well-behaved and haven't gotten into any of the trouble the kids who've lived here their whole lives have. There's not a damn thing wrong with the Cullens, not any of them, they're good people."

I hesitated, "I heard their dad's a doctor here at the hospital."

"We're lucky to have him; he's a brilliant surgeon, one who could probably get a job in any hospital in the country if he wanted. He could get paid more, that's for sure, but apparently Mrs. Cullen wanted to live in a small town. They settled here a couple years ago." He stopped, his mouth pulled to the side in a small grimace, "Did something happen with the Cullens today?"

I shook my head.

"You're sure? I know I said they were good kids, but if one of them was bothering you, Etta, you can tell me."

"It's nothing like that," I assured him, then gave a small smile, "I was just curious, that's all. I wanted to hear about them without all the gossip, they're the first newcomers we've had in a while and I, y'know, I like hearing your take on stuff."

He didn't look entirely convinced, but he let the subject drop. The silence that followed was more mellow than it had been, I managed to get down a few more bites of dinner, and then Charlie-Dad left to do some paperwork in his office for the station. I'd offered to clear the table, since he did the cooking, so I finished my glass of water and went to scrape off my plate into the garbage. We didn't have a dishwasher, so I cleaned the few dinner dishes at the sink by hand before drying them with a cloth and putting them back in the cupboard.

As I placed the last plate on the stack, my stomach lurched. The anxiety that had been burning in my gut all through dinner was strengthening, was spreading into my chest and up my arms. I walked quickly, not wanting to run, not wanting to alert Charlie-Dad that anything was wrong, up the stairs to the bathroom. I bent over the toilet for a few minutes, actually, convinced I was going to hurl, but I didn't. I wish I had.

My stomach was still churning when I crawled into bed and turned off the light.

I couldn't be sure Edward _hadn't_ read my mind, it didn't matter what I thought I had for evidence because there was no way to read him. I would never know for sure, at least not until a few more days passed. _If_ he'd heard my thoughts then surely he'd tell his family, if he hadn't already, and they'd leave Forks – extreme, but if that happened then I'd know. He couldn't have told them that day, though, at least not at lunch, because Rosalie surely would have come after me. That just sounded like something she'd do.

I was reminded, then, how easily Eddie had climbed in through Bella's window to watch her sleep. My own window was locked, had been since my first night, but if he really wanted to he could just break in.

Vulnerable, that's what I was. I was completely, utterly vulnerable to the Cullens' whims. It was up to them whether I lived through this night, whether I lived through the week, the year, the decade. Vampires, whoever they were, it didn't matter, we were all at their mercy. Sure, the Cullens were 'vegetarian', but that didn't make them any less terrifying, any less dangerous. They could still kill a human being without a second thought, they just wouldn't necessarily eat them afterwards.

If they ever found out I knew, well, if they didn't already know, there was nowhere for me to hide, nothing I could do if they decided I should have a little 'accident' to keep me out of their hair. Part of me was sure that they wouldn't do it, but the other part was thrown by all the changes already present in this world, all the things that weren't like they were in the books.

I pulled the duvet up under my chin and tried to ignore how tears pooled in the corners of my eyes before falling in fat, ugly drops down my cheeks. Again, I was crying because of them, because of vampires, because of my own stupidity, again. Those tears soaked the pillow on either side of my head, ran down into my hair, rivulets of water coursing over my skin – once again, I made no noise.

I had been so impatient. I should've waited. I should've just sucked it up and pretended for the rest of my goddamn life. Fuck, I should've stayed in Arizona. I took a couple gulps of air, my nose too clogged to breathe through, and clenched the covers in my fists. My pulse was jittery, as were my limbs and my lips, my teeth chattered; I was terrified.

I'd had time to think it through and, logically, I figured they wouldn't actually do anything to me, they wouldn't dare break into the Chief's house to murder his only child. The other side of logic told me they could. That logic asked me why they would feel guilt over one stupid human, why they _wouldn't_ kill me when it was completely within their abilities and their vampire morality. I kept going back and forth on it, at lunch, in the parking lot, right now, I just couldn't pick an option and stick with it, I had no information with which to make an educated guess. I had those stupid books, but they'd already been proven to be fallible, to be wrong in some things, so what if they were wrong about something this important?

The Cullens could obliterate me utterly in the space of a blink, a nanosecond, all because I thought I was so clever, cleverer than them. All because I thought I knew them, knew how they worked, even when I knew some of my assumptions were wrong. I thought I was so clever, and now I knew I was the stupidest person to ever live.

I taunted a vampire because I was curious, because I couldn't wait, because I thought I was smarter than creatures decades older than me.

I didn't get to sleep until four.

* * *

At six-thirty I woke up feeling exhausted and decided to check my email. As I suspected there were three from Renee-Mom, each sounding more worried than the last, each growing in intensity until she demanded a phone-call from me to determine I was still alive. I wondered, darkly, if she had some sort of sixth-sense. Imagine, Renee Dwyer having a supernatural power no one ever knew of.

How did those powers even work, anyway? I faintly recalled that Alice had gotten visions as a human, so did that mean there were powered humans out there right now? Did that explain Bella's shield? Hopefully, my shield? I couldn't remember how common it was supposed to be, for humans to have something like that, but the answer was most likely 'not very'. Not all vamps had a special ability and they were supposed to be 'superior in every way'.

I shook those ruminations out of my head. I couldn't focus too hard on them, on vampires, not after yesterday and my multiple emotional breakdowns. I had to focus on something else, something that wouldn't make me panic. Already I could feel that second train of thought edging towards the rabbit hole, wanting to jump down into an abyss of what-ifs and possibilities and horrible ways vampires could murder me.

Instead I used my mental discography and picked a nice jam to hum along to.

Five minutes later and I had sent off a reply to Renee-Mom, telling her how much I missed her and how I loved Forks, about the people I'd reconnected with and the classes I was in, and I promised to call her after school that day to talk about it all. I didn't mention the Cullens, neither them nor my lack of sleep.

Charlie-Dad was already gone when I got downstairs to make myself a piece of toast for breakfast. There was a note taped to the coffeemaker, his block print telling me he would be back around dinnertime and not to wait up if he was late. I decided then that I'd make something that night, since I actually knew how to cook a few things and I wanted to feel like I was contributing to the house somehow. I grabbed two twenties from the food money jar on the counter, which was probably more than I needed but it never hurt to be over-prepared, and shoved them into my wallet – I'd stop by the store after school.

It was raining, so I grabbed my raincoat and slipped my arms through it on my way out the door. I was careful not to get my shoes too wet on the lawn, avoided the deepest puddles in our dilapidated driveway, and got into my truck. Bag thrown on the passenger seat, I put the wipers on and shifted the car into reverse to pull out into the street.

The radio was still static-y but I was able to make out the general beat of the song that was playing and I bobbed my head lightly in time to the music as I drove. There was a line to get into the small student lot and I was afraid for a minute I wasn't going to get a spot, except when all the cars were parked there were still nine or ten empty spaces – I forgot, there weren't that many kids at the school and some of them were bused.

I was aware of the shiny Volvo parked off to the side and did my damn best to avoid looking at it or acknowledging it in any way. I had no idea how heightened their senses actually were, so who knew if Rosalie and Emmett had heard me crying yesterday? Crying like that, out of nowhere, was suspicious as hell. I kept my eyes ahead, my head high, as I walked to class. I wouldn't panic today – I'd made my bed, I had to lie in it, and that was okay.

In Trig I was called on to answer one of the homework questions on the board and, no surprise, it turned out I missed two steps when I solved it last night – I got an answer so astronomically wrong it was laughable. A couple people did laugh. I knew I was bad at math, but I also knew I'd been a bit distracted last night so I didn't let it get to me. I would fix my mistakes and do better on the practice questions, and with Paige's help I would drill those formulae into my head so hard they'd never fall out.

At the end of class Paige promised to eat with me at lunch – for real this time – then went running off. Eric waved to, asked me how I was doing, told me a bit about the article he was doing on myspace for the school paper, then headed off to his own class. Myspace, even though I had one, even though everyone had one in 2005, it still gave me a weird feeling that was two-parts shame and one-part nostalgia. Everything was like that, though, people were using limewire religiously and it still gave me the heebie jeebies despite the fact I knew all the virus-avoidance tricks.

I got to art with seconds to spare. Just as I hung my bag off the back of my chair, the bell rang to signal the start of second period. Ms. Howe began by explaining that we'd be doing practice portraits to prepare for our shaded portrait assignment that was due in a couple weeks, then reminded everyone that our topics for the cumulative project had to be chosen by the beginning of March. At my school in Arizona we'd still be doing theory three days into term, but I wasn't really complaining.

I was glad I'd transferred in between semesters, just so I wouldn't have to catch up on any work and had the full time to think about my projects.

Of course, just as I was about to ask Angela to be my partner, Ms. Howe said we had to draw someone other than our seat neighbour. Before I could even look around, assess the other options I had to choose from, there was a light tap on my shoulder.

I turned and gave a polite smile, but it felt like pushing a stick through wet concrete – it took a concentrated effort to keep my heart rate and breathing steady. The whole room had stopped, and it wasn't just my imagination, either; students sitting in all corners of the room quieted their conversations and stared in my direction.

"Yeah?" I asked, and nearly winced at how raspy my voice sounded.

Alice Cullen grinned and bounced on her heels, "Do you want to be my partner?"

* * *

 **AN: Like it? Hate it? Whatever you think, please let me know so I can make the story better! Thank you everyone who has favourited and followed the story, it means so much you wouldn't even believe! But especially thank you to _Missymissy87, NuncaNiem, Gingerxbug, orchidluv_ , and _MozzarellaMermaid_ for reviewing. Your feedback helps keep me on track, so I want you all to know you're appreciated! Hope everyone is having a good weekend, and good luck in your coming week!**


	7. Chapter 7

My 4B pencil moved over the textured paper of my sketchbook, creating a soft _skritchy-scratchy_ sound as I absentmindedly filled in the shadows on the portrait I'd done. It wasn't very good – that wasn't me being self-deprecating, it was simply the truth. I couldn't bring life to the page; the face I drew was lopsided, the eyes were outlined too harshly, and the hair didn't have enough shine to it to make it look like hair. Normally these screw-ups were small enough that my drawing could still be deemed passable, but when my subject was Alice Cullen, a girl who had the delicate face of some priceless china doll, my attempt at capturing her likeness was insulting.

I looked at her over the top of the sketchbook where I had it propped up against my legs on a large art clipboard. She would look down every once in a while to scribble something on her paper and then look back up at me, smiling. It was disarming, beautiful, and the first few times she did it I had to fight down the blush that spread over my cheeks; it wasn't my fault she was flawless.

I had to keep looking at her, too, had to study her for the portrait, and as I did so I wondered why she didn't sparkle under the harsh fluorescent lights. Why was it they only refracted sunlight? I wasn't a light scientist or anything, but artificial light and sunlight weren't that different, were they? Well, sunlight had UV rays; was that why they sparkled, as a reaction to the ultraviolet? I resolved to research shit about the sun later.

I froze.

I made a _resolution_ , a resolution to research vampire things. I _decided_. I glanced up at Alice through my lashes and stifled a relieved sigh when I saw she didn't appear to be in any sort of trance – she was turning her head and studying her drawing from different angles, looking as normal as a vampire ever could.

"Alright," Ms. Howe called attention to the front of the room with a clap of her hands, "Put the finishing touches on your drawings in the next five minutes, then come up here and grab a mirror. We'll be doing self studies for the rest of the period." The rail-thin woman gestured to a plastic box full of mirrors on her desk, clapped again, and said, "Get to it, folks."

Alice set her pencils down on our table and let her sketchbook rest flat on her lap. I tried to ignore her, well, maybe not _ignore_ , but resist the urge I was getting to just drink her in, admire her, _study_ her. I put the last few strokes into my drawing, signed my name in the bottom right corner with a practised flourish, cleared my throat, brushed a ticklish feeling away from my nose.

Alice looked completely at ease.

Even though there was always a part of me, an emotional, thrill-seeking part that craved contact and conversation and, hell, _friendship_ with the Cullens, I struggled against those impulses and moved towards safety instead. I'd already taken a big enough risk with Edward; I didn't need to go poking the bear by starting small talk with Alice, despite how rude I might've appeared.

Unfortunately ( _fortunately?_ ) the petite girl, woman, vampire in front of me was undeterred by my feigned indifference.

"Hey, Etta?" She began, then brought a hand up to her mouth nervously ( _was it genuine?_ ), "Is it okay if I call you Etta? I'm sorry, I just heard everyone else calling you that so I assumed that's what you liked."

Her voice was clear and soft and, somehow, still rang out over the room like a bell. I had a feeling that, if I didn't know, if I hadn't been looking for some sign of unnaturalness in her and her siblings, I'd would've been enraptured.

"Yeah, yeah that's fine. You can call me anything, really, Etta, Loretta, Lora, it doesn't really matter," I said, and my voice was a bit too quiet for how loud the room was, a bit too raspy to be nonchalant, "You're Alice, right?"

"Yes!" She beamed at me, "I just wanted to ask how you're liking Forks. I know it can be hard, moving to a new place in the middle of the year."

"Well, Forks isn't actually that new to me," I said, pushing past the lump in my throat, "I've lived here most of my life."

Surprised wasn't the right word for how she looked, intrigued was more accurate, "Isn't this your first week?"

That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted her to think I was boring and leave me alone. Why wasn't she leaving me alone? "Uh, yeah, at this school, anyway," I chuckled awkwardly, "My Mom wanted me to live with her for a while, said she missed me, so I went to her place in Arizona after grade seven. I got back just a few days ago."

"Why?"

She really was kind of nosey, "Why'd I come back?"

Alice nodded.

I caught my lower lip between my teeth. People were looking at us out of the corner of their eye, whispering behind their hands, examining us as they walked by to get mirrors from Ms. Howe's desk. I didn't know for sure, but I figured Alice didn't talk to many people in this class, or many people in general outside of her siblings, and our conversation was going to be gossip-fodder for a while.

"Forks has always felt more welcoming to me than anywhere else," I said, "Arizona was always too bright or too hot or too dry, I was never comfortable like I was here." I stood up and asked, "Do you want me to get you a mirror?"

She paused, like she was catching up to my change of subject, then said, "Yes, please."

Her voice, again, was clear and chiming and beautiful as a bell.

Even Ms. Howe gave me a searching look as I took two of the mirrors. I noticed both had their sharp edges wrapped in duct tape and I was grateful; it wouldn't do to have someone slice their hand open in art class. Blood would go everywhere and, god, that would be a mess. I wondered if we were going to use x-acto knives for anything. That was a tragedy just waiting to happen. Alice would see if someone was going to have an accident and avoid it, though, so I was worrying for nothing.

I got back to our table and handed her one of the mirrors as I sat down. My finger brushed the side of her palm and it was like rubbing my skin over soft marble. I couldn't describe it any other way, there was the faint texture of smooth stone but it was somehow still supple like human skin. Cool, not cold, like air-conditioning turned on low rather than chewing an ice cube.

She stilled, as if she were waiting for me to comment on the oddity that was her body temperature, but recovered when I didn't speak. I began to examine myself in the mirror I held; I saw her watching me, watching like how everyone else in the room was watching the both of us, and I waited. Would she start asking me more questions? Would she get the hint that I didn't want to talk? Would she focus too hard on me, see something in my future, and seal my fate?

Alice opened her mouth and I went stiff, bracing myself for another onslaught of questions. She had to have noticed but wasn't deterred, "What about your friends? Wasn't it hard, leaving them behind?"

I watched the reflection of my mouth purse, "Yeah, but I keep in touch with a few of them so it's okay. Your family moves around a lot, right? Don't you keep in touch with old friends?"

Of course they didn't. They didn't make friends. They kept to themselves and sat by themselves and did their work by themselves. I doubted they'd given a human their phone number once in their entire lives.

The look Alice fixed me with made me feel like she was peeling my ribs back and inspecting my soul. It was hard, harder than the soft gazes she'd been giving up until that point, "We haven't moved that often, actually, just Alaska and here."

Shit. Shit shit shit. I fucked up. "Oh, sorry," I said, my mind racing for an excuse. What could I say? How did I get myself out of that hole? There! They said they were fostered! "I, um, I assumed cause you guys are foster kids that you must've moved a bunch... sorry, I shouldn't have."

Would she buy it?

She was quiet, a small frown marred her perfect features, then she shook it off with a little wave and was all smiles again, "It's okay. You're right, though, we do have friends in Alaska we still talk to. Not very many, but we call each other from time to time."

I made a soft noise of acquiescence. There were other 'vegetarians' in Alaska, weren't there? The Denver clan or something like that, something starting with a 'Den' anyway. It had been so long, a literal lifetime, since I'd laid a hand on those books – my details were slipping.

I didn't know what else to say, so I moved the mirror back in front of my face to block her from view. I was torn. So much of me wanted adventure, but so much of me was scared. So much of me was trapped in an endless pit of anxiety attacks during the night, so much played at being aloof and carefree during the day; why couldn't it be easy?

"Can I see the portrait you did?" Alice asked, and it was sudden enough that I jumped a bit in my seat, "I'll show you the one I did of you, too."

"Uh, sure," I said, even though I was embarrassed with just how bad it was. I flipped from the faint sketch of my own face back to the one of Alice in my book and held it out to her.

She reached out to take it. I was hesitant, but let her slip it gently out of my grip so she could get a closer look. Crinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes, though I couldn't tell if she was laughing at me or scowling at my inadequate representation of her face.

I wiggled in my seat, "I know it's not very good. I promise you look a lot nicer than that."

"No, no, it's nice!" She said as she handed it back to me, "Maybe you could practice a bit more, but it's not bad." Her voice was too sweet, simpering, like I was a toddler who'd just handed her a particularly coordinated crayon drawing; fair.

She showed me hers then, and I was looking at a photograph. It was that good. The shading, the hair, she even got the freckles that dotted my nose and cheekbones, and the eyes were uncanny in how they stared out from the page. I imagined that drawing was my clone, that it could step out into the world at any moment.

"That's amazing," I told her, and it was the first time in our conversation that I spoke in a normal tone.

Alice giggled; it was wind chimes in the breeze, "Thank you!"

We drifted into silence and I could hear the chattering of the other students buzzing like a mosquito in my ear. I went back to my self portrait, looked every so often at the face in the mirror, almost gave myself the corkscrew curls from Before, and I wondered how Alice could stand it. The lying, the secrets, all the time just hiding and playing pretend. I knew she had to, they all did, they had no choice, but I could hardly keep it together after one day and they did it for years and years.

I felt sorry, for the first time in this life I felt sorry for a vampire. Alice was bubbly, kind, and she could never be outgoing or make new friends or anything like that because she had such a huge secret to keep. She would be stagnant, stuck with the same five people, for the rest of eternity.

When the bell rang, I was up and packing my things away before Alice even closed her sketchbook. She was waiting, it looked like, for the room to clear before she got up. I shrugged my backpack onto my shoulders and walked over to Angie, who'd been paired up with some boy I didn't recognize. We headed out together, but before we crossed the doorway I turned around and caught Alice's eye. I smiled and waved and mouthed a 'goodbye'.

She beamed at me and waved back.

* * *

Paige and her boyfriend sat at a table shoved all the way into the back corner of the cafeteria. They weren't the only ones who sat there, however. Seven other teens, all dressed in varying degrees of dark clothing, squeezed their way into formation around them and grumbled when they had to make room for me. They didn't appear to be a close-knit group of friends, but they smiled greetings at each other and engaged in small bouts of conversation. I was sat between the boyfriend, whose name I learned was Gregory James, and a tall Korean girl named Joy.

"So," Paige said from her place on Greg's other side, "I hear you and Alice Cullen were all buddy-buddy today in second period."

I rolled my eyes, "So?"

"I dunno," She replied, and she sounded honestly perplexed, "The Cullens don't really talk to anyone. What did you talk about?"

"Oh, just how I was liking Forks, why I moved, friends we've left in other states, stuff like that."

Paige nodded, "Huh. Was she nice?"

"Yeah," I said, "I don't get why everyone is always talking shit about them." That was a lie. I knew it was a mix between people being driven off by fear they didn't understand and the Cullens' own standoffish behaviour.

Greg piped up, "It's cause they're rich and hot and people are jealous, not to mention the two girls are frigid as fuck."

Paige whacked him in the arm and he let out a mock yelp of pain, smile on his face the whole time. He leaned in and tried to kiss her, but she put a hand over his mouth and pushed him away, gesturing with the spoon she was using in her yogurt cup, "I'm eating! Do you want gooey, yogurt lips?"

"Alice wasn't mean to me," I said, a bit confrontationally I must admit. Why did he single out her and Rosalie, was it just because they wouldn't date the shitty boys in this school?

Greg gave me a once over, like he couldn't believe what I just said, "That's not what frigid means, babe."

Paige then scolded her boyfriend for calling another girl 'babe', but she did it in such a joking manner that I could tell it didn't really bother her. I didn't know Gregory James, I'd only shared a few words with him, but I didn't like him at that moment. Honestly, he made me a little uncomfortable. I promised I'd tell him to shut up or something if he said something like that again.

He didn't. After our delightful exchange, he and Paige leaned together and began to not-so-subtly whisper about hooking up in Greg's car instead of going to next period.

I studied my tray and the half-eaten beef patty that lay on it, and the rest of the table finally stopped filleting me with their eyes. I pushed the remains of a few french fries around with my fork, speared a few, and shoved them into my mouth – they were cold. I considered just getting up and heading to the library, but my back was to the wall and I was boxed in by people I didn't know. Why couldn't I have gotten the seat at the end?

Instead of push past them and draw attention to how awkward I felt, I flipped open my phone to check my text messages. Only two people would text instead of call; one was a friend from back in Arizona and the other was Joan, the girl I'd met on my flight. Nadia, the Arizona friend, still hadn't replied to the goodbye text I'd sent her before I'd boarded my plane, but Joan and I had a small back-and-forth going. Her last message was sent from work, she was telling me about this club she was going to hit on the weekend and asking if I wanted to come. I replied that I'd love to, but I still wasn't twenty-one, Joan, same every other time.

I snapped the phone closed and shoved in back into my pocket. Joy had just stood up and left to take her tray to the garbage, so I took my chance to flee. "Paige, hey," I called over Greg's head, "I'm gonna head out, okay? I wanna see if the Bio room is open so I can finish some homework."

Paige just nodded and sent a wave my way before going back to very nearly necking her boyfriend in view of the whole student body.

Some of the others gave me a halfhearted goodbye but didn't look all that torn up that I was leaving. Which was fine by me, I didn't think I'd be eating with them very often anyway. I liked Paige, she was a good partner in English and Spanish, but we just didn't have the same relationship we used to and I didn't think that divide would heal anytime soon.

The Cullens' lunch table stood, a glaring sentry, between me and the doors of the cafeteria. I tried to let my eyes pass over them in clear indifference, tried to convey that I cared very little about them and their affairs and their flawlessness, but my gaze lingered on each one individually. I recognized, then, it didn't matter if they noticed my stares; Eddie had read my mind or he hadn't, he was biding his time or he wasn't – nothing I did could change that now. So I would look at them, I would think my goddamn thoughts all I wanted. If Edward Cullen hadn't heard them already, he never would.

I had slowed down, hesitated, but when I realized I sped right back up. Fuck 'em, they weren't the boss of me, I could walk anywhere and look at anyone and they would have to do something about it if they didn't like it.

Sitting together, the Cullens vaguely reminded me of a renaissance painting. Not that I'd studied many renaissance paintings in either life, but it was something in the air they gave off. It surrounded them, their table, and basically emanated outwards like the soft glow of a streetlamp in the fog. They were posed, poised, perfect, and they all fit like puzzle pieces despite the obvious differences between them all.

Emmett could so obviously crush my head between his hands. He was built like a linebacker, yet still had kind eyes. He threw his head back and laughed at something someone had said, and a black curl fell over his forehead. A hand appeared, belonging to Rosalie, to brush the stray hair back out of his eyes.

Rosalie herself was... god, she was difficult to describe. It was the most cliche thing, but she was a goddess, Aphrodite come alive, with golden hair that fell in waves to her waist. I was scared that if I looked too long, too hard, I'd never be able to stop, and I didn't want to oogle her like I was sure everyone else did.

Jasper, somehow, looked the most dangerous even as he hunched over in his seat, and it might've been a trick of the light, but I could've sworn I caught sight of a silvery crescent scar on his neck. His hair covered the side of his face, hiding his eyes from view; I wondered what colour they were, if he were hunched like that because he so desperately wanted to tear into the nearest human throat.

Alice wasn't facing me, but she had her hands fluttering about at her sides as she, presumably, spoke to one of her siblings. Her head bobbed, little flyaway hairs bouncing where they stuck out at all angles. How did she make bedhead look couture?

Edward was Edward; lean, bronze-haired, brooding. I could see his eyes well enough, and they were darker, more amber than the gold they'd been yesterday. How often did they need to feed, anyway? Once a week, twice? Once every two weeks? It had been mentioned in the books, hadn't it?

Not one of them glanced in my direction until I was walking right by their table, at which point Alice swiveled around in one uncannily smooth motion and somehow managed to look friendly while blatantly staring me down. I stumbled on a rogue chair leg, stumbled, and righted myself just as I was about to spill onto the floor.

"Lora, are you okay?" Alice asked from her seat, eyes wide and imploring.

Lora? "Oh yeah, totally fine." I thought she called me Etta back in art? What was with the change?

Her siblings were staring at her, Rosalie was glaring daggers, and it might've been my imagination but I thought I saw Eddie give his head a little shake. What was Alice doing? Why was she doing _whatever it was_ when everyone else obviously thought it was a _horrible idea_?

"Sorry if I startled you," she said, then stood up, "I just wanted to you a minute and I saw you coming this way and I thought-"

I cut her off gently, "It- it's fine, Alice. What did you wanna talk about?"

She held something in her hand, halfway behind her back, and I tried not to stare at it as she spoke, "I just wanted to ask if you'd be my partner for the rest of our portrait assignment."

"I thought we had to paint ourselves," I said, and took a small step back. I was feeling very crowded. People were staring again.

Alice giggled, "Well, we can either do that, or we can paint someone else, and I would really like to paint you. Would that be okay?"

Me? Why did she want to paint _me_? Was this a ploy? Was this some plot to get me to lower my guard and reveal what I knew? Why would they get publicly close to me if they were going to kill me? _Were_ they going to kill me? Why was Alice even _talking_ to me?

"Lora? Are you alright?"

"Yes!" It came out louder than I wanted and a sheepish smile pulled at my lips, "Yes, I'm fine..." What did I do? What _should_ I do? "I mean, if you want to, I don't mind at all. The partners thing, I mean. So, uh, you'll paint me and I'll paint you?"

She nodded, then held out her hand, revealing a piece of paper tucked in her grip, "This is my number, just call if you have any questions about the project. Ms. Howe sometimes skips out on instructions, so we'll help each other out, okay?"

My hand shook as she dropped the paper into it. I could hardly tell I was nodding in agreement, my head was spinning so fast. I don't know what I said, exactly, some combination of thank you and goodbye, but I got it out and then, out of sheer habit, waved at the rest of the Cullens. It was polite, okay, to acknowledge them. I did that and I was able to walk at a steady, normal pace down the rest of the length of the cafeteria and out the doors.

Outside, I leaned against the side of the building and inspected the note Alice had given me. It was innocuous, just a string of numbers underneath her name, both written in large, looping cursive. The pencil was starting to smudge against my sweaty hands, so I tucked the paper into my pocket before crossing the field towards Building 2.

I would deal with that later.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you for reading. Please, if you have the time, tell me what you think! I love hearing feedback, criticism, any comments you may have. How did I do with Alice's character? How did I do with the more in-depth descriptions of the Cullens? Did it seem too much like it was shoved in there randomly? I'm no professional by any means, so any advice is awesome.**

 **To _Aladine98, MozzarellaMermaid, BookishBeast, rachel2799, orchidluv, GraceEllingson_ , and _NuncaNiem_ ; thank you so much for taking the time to review and tell me your thoughts, it means so much to hear back from you guys.**

 **Oh, before I sign off, I'm having some computer issues right now. Like, I thought I lost all the writing I'd ever done kind of issues. I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but I'm gonna aim for sometime before November 10th. I'm sorry about that, but a new computer might be in my future.**


	8. Chapter 8

When I got to Biology, Edward was already there. I'd just seen him in the caf, but I'd also taken a few extra minutes to collect myself after my little Alice encounter at their lunch table, so I figured it was still possible he'd gotten there at human speed. I shook it off. When he looked me straight in the face and smiled, though, that was something not so easily brushed away. Why? Why was he doing that happy looking thing with his face? Where was the brooding?

I weaved around the other lab tables and plunked myself into my seat without a smidgen of grace. I heard Edward snort, honest to god, he fucking snorted at me, quietly, but still. I raised an eyebrow, "What's so funny?"

He just shook his head, still smiling, "Nothing."

Why did I engage? _Why did I engage?_ What the _fuck_? I know I said I would be chill but that was when I was just _looking at them_. My confidence sure as hell didn't extend into full blown conversations. Instead of retort like I usually would, I nodded and moved my hair over my shoulder – a barrier between us. He was meant to be, like, Alice's opposite, right? Did that mean he'd take the hint?

No dice.

"I'm Edward, Edward Cullen," he said, and for Christ's sake his voice was low and smooth andmelodious. Meyer wasn't fucking around when she designed these fuckers to draw humans in, that's for sure.

"I know," I said, and he seemed startled by my blunt reply.

"You know?"

"Well, your family is kind of the talk of the town," I admitted, "Besides, didn't Alice tell you we sat together in art? That's what the whole conversation in the cafeteria was about, y'know, our assignment."

"She mentioned something like that." His eyes narrowed slightly, so slightly that I'd have missed it if I weren't staring so closely, "When you say 'talk of the town', what is it exactly the town is saying?"

"Shit, mostly," I said, "Nothing really bad, but you can tell it's a load of crap. I didn't listen to much. Sorry, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it."

Edward deflated a little, though his eyes were hard, "It's been two years since we moved in, you'd think it would've calmed down by now."

I sighed. Mr. Banner still wasn't in and the bell had yet to ring. Oh, there it was – the grating ring echoed into the room from the hall. For some reason Edward was talking to me, but he was nice enough. He wasn't glaring daggers into my neck, at any rate. I held out my hand, "I'm Loretta Swan, you can call me whatever."

"I know," he said, looking smug that he turned my words around on me. He didn't take my hand.

I rolled my eyes, "You just gonna leave me hanging here? I'm trying to be all adult-y."

That he actually took it instead of ignore me or make an excuse was surprising. If I were discount Bella, and I was pretty sure I was, shouldn't he be avoiding me? I couldn't slip my hand away without it being incredibly odd, so I was half prepared for him to drag me towards him and for his teeth to sink into my neck. That's not what happened at all.

When his hand slipped into mine, I expected something fantastic, some intoxicating terror or ridiculous love revelation. I wasn't Bella, but I might as well have been, I was discount Bella, like I said, and I expected something weird because of that. Nothing. It was just a cold hand. I was relieved, actually relieved, not just partially or sort of relieved – the last thing I wanted was to be in a star crossed nightmare with Edward Cullen as my Romeo.

He gave my hand one decisive shake, "Nice to meet you." His eyes, thick amber, weren't so much like stone anymore. In fact, he smiled at me a second time.

"You too."

Mr. Banner rushed in, then, fumbling with a folder and a handful of transparencies for the overhead projector. The rest of the class had filed in at some point – I'd been too focused on Eddie's facial expressions to notice – and everyone was ready to be bored for the next hour.

Edward and I didn't speak again.

* * *

"Mom," I said into the phone, cradling it between my ear and shoulder as I spread turquoise polish onto my nails, "I promise, we've only had pizza one time since I've been here. Dad's gotten a lot better at cooking, I'm telling you!"

She huffed, I could basically see her pacing, "Well, what did you have last night, then?"

"Roast beef." I said smugly. We just wouldn't mention that it'd been microwaved. I wasn't technically lying, after all.

"Oh, alright," she sounded surprised, "As long as you're eating!"

"Yes Mom."

She went on, "I don't want a repeat of freshman year okay? Three meals and snacks, don't forget."

"It was stress, Mom, about starting high school in a new place, that's all," I muttered, sticking my tongue out as I struggled to get an even coat on my right thumbnail. "Okay, maybe a bit of heatstroke, too."

I heard a muffled laugh and I knew I got her, "I'm your mother, Etta, I'm going to worry no matter what it is. I have to run, but you better email me every other day, okay? I can't believe you just dropped off the face of the Earth like that, didn't even tell me you got there safely!"

"I said sorry three time already," I whined, "Besides, I can't write that often, Mom, I have homework and stuff. Is every Saturday okay? I promise to pick up if you call."

She sighed, "Too busy to talk to your own mother, huh? I guess once a week is fine, I'll miss you, but I suppose it'll have to do"

"Thanks for the guilt trip, Mom."

"No problem, baby," I could hear the smile in her voice. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Talk to you Saturday."

I gingerly pulled the phone away from my ear, ended the call, and flipped it closed, being as careful as I could not to smear my nail polish. Waving my hands gently to dry my nails, I stood from where I sat at my desk and walked over to the bookshelf. There, behind a stack of old Garfield books, was a spiral-bound journal filled to bursting the handwriting of a frightened six year old. When I had first understood what was happening, when I got my first concrete evidence, I began writing down all I could remember of the Twilight series; somehow it had gone undiscovered ever since.

Once the polish had set to a glossy finish, I was going to pull that book out and read every line. I thought, when I got here, that I remembered enough, that I had it all straight in my head, but I was wrong. I needed a refresher. I needed to see what else had changed.

* * *

I was better rested come morning – apparently I had cried myself out earlier and couldn't muster the energy to fall into an anxiety spiral. I did, however, have the energy to mull over all the facts I'd forgotten. After reading my notes and tucking the journal between my mattress and my box spring I felt no surer of my position, but I did feel more knowledgeable.

That clan of vegetarians up in Alaska? They were the Denali coven; Tanya, Kate, Eleazar, Irina, and perhaps a few others I hadn't remembered. I knew Laurent, the third vampire who travelled with James and Victoria, joined them for a little while. Not until Bella entered the picture, though, and only really to fuck with Irina. I did remember that he got torn to pieces by the Quileute wolves for going after Bella and being a jackass. I wasn't sure on the timeline for the others, when they joined or why, just that the Denali were a large group and were close to the Cullens.

It was odd, to read something I knew I had written yet have only the foggiest memories of actually writing it. Especially when I could remember so much of my life, moments that were usually lost to time, like my first taste of solid food or my first steps, were crystal clear because I had never truly been a child this time.

The journal was in my glove compartment, now. I brought it with me and shoved it in there on my way to school, just to have it close. I figured it was reckless, but I doubted the Cullens would be raiding my truck anytime soon. Hell, even if they did, what did it really matter anymore? At least I wouldn't have to keep making decisions about my future and my life and the entire fucking timeline – the Cullens would make them for me.

Sitting on my desk at home was the ratty piece of paper with Alice's phone number on it. The paper was ratty because I'd folded and re-folded the damn thing nearly a hundred times last night, deciding whether or not to put her number into my phone or if I wanted to text her or if I wanted to throw the thing in the trash. I pictured it, paper worn soft, just innocently laying there like it hadn't sent me reeling.

I hopped out of my truck. Maybe I'd get lucky and the Cullens wouldn't hit me with another curve-ball today.

* * *

In art, Ms. Howe told us we could paint someone else for the assignment as long as that person agreed to paint us in return. She said she wanted a portrait of every student to display in the case along the hall, so there would be no doubles permitted.

I wondered if Alice even realized the mistake she made, that maybe she asked me to be her partner a day earlier than she should have. But, if she could see the future, how could she make a mistake like that? I couldn't do anything about it. I didn't want to bring attention to it and, in turn, bring the Cullens' attention to me, so I pretended nothing odd went down.

"I know the syllabus says this is meant to be a 'shaded portrait', but I hope you all caught the correction where I changed my mind. This early in the semester I thought it would be fun to use paint instead," Ms. Howe said. "You can use the class collection of acrylics here in the tubs, or you can buy your own type of paint and use that. As long as you stick with the theories we've talked about and keep your light source in mind, you can go wild with your medium!

"Today I just want you to focus on getting some thumbnails done, either with paint or pencil, and make sure you have an angle you like. We'll get the actual portrait started tomorrow and finish them up Monday. If you think you'll need more time, you're welcome work on them at home over the weekend. These aren't meant to be very intricate, mind you, just a short, little thing to get us all warmed up, so don't fret over detail too much, okay? Awesome."

Alice had waved me over the moment I stepped into the room, so I was once again sitting with her as I looked at Angie's table with longing. I'd noticed, too, that no one else sat with us. You'd think that would've been apparent, but I was so stuck in my head the day before I hadn't realized. The table was meant to seat four. I felt a little bad, actually, that Alice had been all by herself – even if it was better for humans to stay away, it couldn't feel very good to be so blatantly ostracized.

Still, this was the second place I was stuck with a Cullen scrutinizing my every move; I didn't enjoy it. I kept my hackles raised as long as I could, was short with her, curt and cold, but the longer I sat there the deeper she burrowed under my skin. She exuded positive energy so thoroughly I half-wondered if it was another power she had.

"Could you wear your hair down tomorrow?" Alice asked, completely out of the blue.

I blinked. I usually did, it was only a split decision in the morning that had me put it in two buns on top of my head. "Uh, sure," I said, "Why?"

"Oh, I really want to paint your hair, and I'll have more hair to paint if you wear it down!"

I agreed, and she beamed.

Unsettling as her smile could be, it was also infectious – I couldn't help but smile back.

She was busying herself organizing her pencils and a small watercolour set on the table when she turned to me, "Do you want me to do anything different with _my_ hair?"

Hers was so short there wasn't much she _could_ do. Even with hair gel she would probably only get the floof to look sharper and more defined, as opposed to getting a totally new hairstyle out of it. She looked expectant, though, and a little hopeful, and before I knew it I was saying, "You think you could wear a headband, maybe? You don't have to slick your hair back, or anything, I'm just really bad with it and a headband would sort of break it up, y'know?"

"How about a scarf?" She asked, then took the scarf from around her neck, folded it thin, pulled it over her head, and tied it behind her ears like a bandana, "Like this!" It should've been silly, but she looked like a 70s fashion icon.

I don't know why I said it. Okay, that's a huge lie. I said it because she eerily resembled a puppy who really wanted me to tell her to do something with her hair. Fabric was so much harder than hair to paint, to draw, even, but her amber eyes were bright with excitement and I caught it like a cold. "Perfect," I told her.

She pulled the scarf back down around her neck with a little laugh, "It's decided, then."

We sketched in relative silence for a while, until Alice stood up and went to get a cup of water for her watercolours. I wondered if she was just using them for her sketches or if she was going to do her full painting like that. I could've asked; I didn't.

Before she got back from the sink – and there was something funny about watching a vampire carry a cup of water like she was afraid it would spill – I heard someone from the table behind me hiss, like they were whispering but much too loudly.

"This is the most she's talked to anyone in this class, ever,"

"What's so special about LJ anyway?" Came the reply, "She disappears for a few years, comes back, and suddenly she's hot shit?"

"Maybe Alice think she's from some big city, that she's rich like her."

A snort, "She better get ready for disappointment."

I didn't turn around, so I wasn't sure who was speaking, but they were definitely girls. Their words weren't exactly _mean_ ; well, they were, but they didn't say them in a _mean way_ , just a sort of matter-of-fact tone, like they were talking about the weather. It was still annoying. I thought about telling them to shut their mouths and mind their business, but Alice was in her seat again before I got up the nerve.

She talked, then. Little, inconsequential things, like the last camping trip she went on with her family and how the night before Edward had kept her up because he wouldn't use headphones when playing the piano. I knew it was bullshit, I _knew,_ but she looked so happy when I nodded or made a little 'hmm' I couldn't ignore everything that came out of her mouth. She hadn't actually _done_ anything to me, not at that point.. She hadn't done anything, she didn't act angry or any more suspicious than usual, and she wasn't zoning into a trance every time I made a choice. I figured, for the time being, being nice to her would be harmless.

With that mindset, I drifted into a place where I told myself it didn't matter Alice Cullen was a vampire with a huge capacity for destruction. As long as we were friendly, civil, with each other, then I would get past this hiccough and art would return to being my favourite subject at Forks High.

* * *

I'd lied to myself yesterday. Since Jessica and Angie's table was so close to the Cullens, and I had been close enough to the Cullens for a good long while, I sat with Paige and her group for a second day in a row. Again, I got a few nods and a smile from Joy, but no one started a conversation with me until Paige showed up a few minutes later with Gregory James.

She plopped down on my left, once again boxing me in, "What's up, Buttercup?"

"Buttercup?" I asked.

"It's a saying," She said, "don't pretend you've never heard it."

I laughed, "Nothing, well, except all the crap I keep overhearing in art."

"Right, you're being indoctrinated into the Cullen cult by the most unassuming member."

"What?"

Paige snorted, "That's not what you're hearing?"

"A cult, really?" I raised an eyebrow, "I think you're making that up."

She stuck her tongue out at me but could hardly contain her smile, "Maybe. It's a theory I've been playing with."

"Uh-huh."

"Whatever, you'll see I'm right eventually," she said, picking through a bag of trail mix, "It's like Scientology or something, I swear. Why else would they be so _exclusive_?"

I just shook my head, "Enough about the Cullens, I'm tired of the Cullens, tell me something interesting, something different. Like, I dunno, where are you going on vacation?"

Greg piped up, "Wait, you're going on vacation?"

"I told you this a month ago, babe," Paige glared at her boyfriend across the table, "Would it kill you to remember this one little thing?"

He backed off, his hands held out in exaggerated surrender. Nothing more was said; I thought he was an even bigger douche than before. I didn't comment. Maybe Paige would break up with him after she got back. Then, I wondered why I cared so much. Sure, Paige and I had been close before, but we weren't that close _now_ , what did I care if her boyfriend was a dick.

"Anyway," her voice was almost a growl as she turned back to me, "We're going to Italy, some place near Florence."

"Nice," I smiled, "You said you're going in a few weeks but-"

She cut me off, "Oh yeah, we're going a week before March break and getting back once it's over. Two weeks, no school, seeing the sights and feeling the sun – god, the sun! That's what I'm most excited about."

"Fair," I said, "but if there's one thing I don't miss about Arizona it's that."

Joy actually piped up from her spot on the opposite corner, "What? What's not to like about sunshine? I'd give my life for a nice, clear, sunshine-y day here in Forks."

"It's hot, and with all the moisture here it'd be humid as hell," I grumbled, thinking back to years of battling mosquitoes and then years of getting sandblasted in the desert, "Dry heat is bad enough, but humidity? Nuh-uh, no thanks."

Paige blew a raspberry, "That's just your opinion, some of us aren't weird tan vampires who hate light and warmth."

My laughter was sudden, loud, and jarring. The last thing I expected was to be compared to a vampire. A couple people from the surrounding tables turned and looked, but I was too busy wheezing my chuckles back to pay them any mind. Me, a vampire, fuck, that was good.

"It wasn't that funny," Greg said, and while he didn't sneer it was a near thing.

I brushed away an imaginary tear, "Yes it was."

* * *

Biology saw us in the library, watching some grainy video introducing us to cell structure. Why we had to be in the library for that, I had no idea. I figured we'd be given some worksheet to fill out once the presentation was done and maybe we'd have to look something up to find the answers.

The cloth projector screen was pulled down over the back wall and four of the tables that were usually dotted about the room were lined up in front of it. Four people sat around each one, some turned in their seats to stare at the screen while some didn't even bother. I was at a table near the front with two people I recognized by face alone and Angie, the latter acting much too invested in the droning voice that came out over dented speakers.

Eddie, I saw, was one of two people shoved onto the end of a table. He'd pushed his chair out almost a foot away from the group and sat like he wanted to cross his arms over his chest; he didn't, but the action would've matched the look on his face.

Twenty minutes of monotone exposition and ugly computer generated models later, the video ended with a guttural electronic squelch and a flash of coloured bars. Mr. Banner turned off the projector and began walking between the tables, passing out worksheets. Fucking called it.

"Alright, you have the rest of the hour to finish this package – two pages, front and back," he told us, sounding as disinterested as I felt, "You can work on your own or brainstorm with a partner, I don't care, just hand it to me before you leave. If you weren't taking notes and you've already forgotten the video even happened, you can use the encyclopedias along that wall for the answers."

I waited a beat to see if he'd say anything else, but when he waved his hand and sat down I stood up to go get an encyclopedia. Hell, I wasn't paying attention, and even though I'd done this unit before it had been a long-ass time ago. Before I could leave the table Angie put a hand on my wrist to stop me. I gave her a look that translated vaguely to a question mark.

"I took notes," she said quietly, "We can share them, it's fine."

I sat back down, "You sure? I don't just wanna copy you..."

She smiled, "It's _fine_. C'mon, if we work together on the long answers then it won't take half as long to finish."

I thanked her, we brought our heads together, and we got to work. It took us a while to get all the questions done, including an inane little fill-in-the-blanks passage and the word search on the back, because I kept doodling little stick figures in the margins of my paper to make Angie laugh. They were an army – some had hats – with swords and spears and they were waging war on the grainy cell diagrams. I considered writing in a 'Leeroy Jenkins' speech bubble, but refrained because I had no idea if that had even happened yet; the more I thought about it, the more I figured it hadn't.

"What now?" I asked as I flipped the papers in the package back into the right order.

Angie pointed to where Mr. Banner was sitting near the projector, "He's got a wire basket up there, I think that's where we put them."

I nodded. We got up to give Banner our sheets and nearly walked into Edward, who was headed over to do the same thing. Instead of collide, I stepped back hastily and bumped into Angie, who made a small 'oof' noise in complaint. Eddie was a goddamn vampire for fucks sake, there was no way he didn't do that on purpose.

I took Angie's package and dropped it, along with mine, in the basket. Then, as I watched Edward walk back to his seat, I asked Mr. Banner, "Uh, what do we do when we're done?"

He looked up from the binder he was writing in – maybe he was marking – and sighed, "You can sit back down at your table or browse the shelves. There's only fifteen minutes left until the bell; don't be loud."

Angie was already back at the table, homework from some other class in front of her and her bottom lip tucked in her teeth. I considered going to sit with her, but she wouldn't be very talkative and I wasn't in the mood to be all studious, so I passed by where she sat and headed into the fiction section. That's where I'd find _Wuthering Heights_ , right? I didn't know when we were going to start it in class, but if it was as boring as I was expecting, it was a good idea to get started early. I suppose I was being a little studious.

It took me a while to remember how libraries were organized; embarrassing, I know. Who wrote the damn thing again? One of the Brontë sisters, yeah? So I needed to find the _B_ section. There were a startling number of fiction shelves and I'd wandered into the middle of the _N_ s – it took me two seconds to walk around to the other side of the shelf. Okay, hmm, _D,_ no, ah there we go, _B._

I had pulled one of three copies of _Wuthering Heights_ from the shelf and was about to walk away when I noticed someone standing at the other end of the aisle. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and, even though I could only see a cascade of blonde and not a face, I knew I was staring at Rosalie Hale... Cullen... whatever. Rosalie was in the same library aisle as me and no one else was around – I'd turned, I'd checked, and we were alone.

Everything felt too quiet. No chatter, no pages being turned, I couldn't even hear my own breathing, there was only me and the back of the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Oh god. She turned her head and fixed my with a stare I could only describe as stone cold. Before I could leave, before I could even offer an awkward wave like I'd done at their lunch table the day previous, she was walking towards me.

What the fuck? What the actual, literal, heavenly fuck? Rosalie wasn't in my Biology class, Rosalie wasn't even in my grade! Why was she in the library this period? Why wasn't she, fuck, I don't know, _literally anywhere else_?

She didn't use any vampire speed, but it felt like she was in front of me in a nanosecond. I held my book against my chest with both hands like a barrier, like a dead tree could stand between me and an apex predator in any capacity. Maybe if it were a stake, wait, no, wrong lore. If only a stake could kill these fuckers then I wouldn't have to be so scared all the damn time.

I met her eyes – and I had to look _up_ , which pissed me off, because I used to be taller than Rosalie Hale but probably never would be again – and I did it reluctantly. I didn't want to seem rude or dismissive or like I was staring at her chest.

"Loretta Swan," she said, her voice as cold as her eyes.

Why did every Cullen use my name like that, first and last, like I wasn't the only Loretta in the school? Hell, why did her eyes have to be so close to black, so intimidating, yet still so mesmerizing? I cleared my throat with a staged cough and stammered, "Y-yes, ha, that-that's me."

Her gaze told me she wasn't impressed, "My sister's been talking about you. She considers you her friend, did you know?"

"I, well, um, I-"

She went on, ignoring my utter failure to produce words, her tone smooth and deadly soft, "I didn't say anything, but I thought it was odd. I asked myself, why would Alice want to be friends with someone so two-faced?"

My face must have shown how offended I felt, because Rosalie went from staring to full-out glaring. I could feel the blood drain out of my cheeks, my fingers dig into the pages of my book, my heart skittering around in my rib cage. I very quickly stopped being offended and was afraid instead.

"Don't think we don't see you, sitting with your friends as they run their mouths off about us, talk about us like we're zoo animals," she spat, her face getting closer to mine with each word, "What was it that Flanagan girl said? That we're a cult?"

There was no way Paige had been talking about that to anyone else besides her group, and her group wouldn't repeat it within earshot of the Cullens. At least, not human earshot. There was no reasonable, human explanation for Rosalie knowing about that exchange, not when I knew that joke wouldn't have spread. Maybe she expected me to make something up, to reason it away somehow; if I didn't know better I would have.

Rosalie scoffed, "Then you turn around and act like you're my sister's new _BFF_. It's disgusting."

There was a pause where she should have walked away, but she didn't. My mouth was moving, no sounds were coming out, and then I managed a weak, "I can't control what other people say."

She looked down her nose at me, upper lip pulled into a sneer that wasn't in any way ugly.

"But you're right," I continued, still quiet, "I should say something, I shouldn't sit back and laugh, you're right. I'm sorry."

There was a glint of something that could've been surprise but it was gone from her face before I was sure. Her sneer dropped, though, and was replaced with a haughty purse of her lips. She took a step towards me and reached out, and I remembered vividly that she had been all for murdering Bella to protect the family.

"You're in my way," she said, "Move."

No blood, no pain, no hand around my neck – I let out a breath. I went shakily to the right and watched as Rosalie pulled a book down from the top of the shelf, something by Asimov. She walked away, then, didn't look back at me once as she did so, just took her book and left like she hadn't just taken ten years off my life.

I watched, and when she turned at the end of the aisle and moved on to where I could no longer see her, I noticed Edward standing further back. He was staring at me, directly into my eyes. There was no acknowledgement, no nod or anything, only a stony face. I couldn't tell what colour his eyes were, he was too far away, and I was afraid they would be black like Rosalie's had been. What if I survived her only to be torn apart second later by a feral Edward?

Then, fluidly, moving like a dancer or a ninja or a stalking panther, he walked away.

* * *

 **AN: So I got my computer all fixed up, all in all it took about 26 hours of fucking around. It was a nightmare. Please tell me what you think of this chapter, especially with the multitude of linebreaks - were they annoying? Have any thoughts on the chapter, whether good or bad, please share. I'm sorry literally nothing has happened, but we're getting some action next time so look out! Thanks to _orchidluv, mynameisella, Code-Kya, Aladine98, Kasuka-chan, marlastiano_ , and _MozzarellaMermaid_ for their wonderful and kind reviews. Hey, would you guys rather I reply individually to your reviews rather than give this shout out? I wasn't sure, so tell me your opinion please. **

**Also, have any of you other writers been getting reviews from this Debbie Hicks person that are just walls of text? They sort of seem like a story but don't make a lot of sense? I'm pretty sure it's a bot? Maybe? If not, I'm sorry for being a huge dick to your writing Debbie, but please stop sending it to people in reviews.**


	9. Chapter 9

I never did message Alice about the portrait assignment. Hell, I didn't even put her number into my phone. I'd struggled with the decision for two days before I sent a quick 'thank you' text and received a smiley face in response. I didn't send another. I shoved the paper with her fancy scrawl on it into my desk drawer and prayed to vampire god she wouldn't ask me about why I left her hanging.

After everything, after lunchtime interrogations, after the confrontation with Rosalie in the library, after Edward and his staring, I didn't want to invite them in anymore. Well, maybe I did. Maybe I wanted the Cullens to be interested in me, to ask after me, to invite me into their family. Maybe I'd get answers, maybe I could give them some. I didn't know.

That was I lie, I knew myself a bit too well. I was just a coward, plain and simple. The thought of making the wrong choice was paralyzing, so I chose the easiest option – the option that meant I didn't have to do anything differently.

Two weeks had passed since the Biology period where Rosalie nearly ripped my head off. In that time Alice stopped beckoning me to sit with her. She waved in the hallways, smiled when I came into the classroom, but she didn't approach me again. Edward was similar, he'd greet me in class, even pointed out the correct answer once when I was having a bit of obvious trouble, but avoided further conversation with strict resilience. They were polite, but distant, more distant than they seemed to be at the beginning.

I stood in front of the display case outside the art room, examined the paintings tacked up behind the glass, and was once again in awe of the sheer talent Alice Cullen possessed. I was facing a photograph done up in technicolor, my round face alight with amusement and my brown eyes glinting with a secret – that someone had seen me so utterly was still a bit scary.

Just as I was going to turn and head to Trig, Alice wandered out into the hallway. "See you tomorrow, LJ," she chirped.

I nodded, "Yeah." She kept switching nicknames, why did she do that?

Alice smiled like she found something funny, shook her head, then flounced away with her scarf trailing behind her in a nonexistent breeze. I watched as she merged into the crowd before hitching my bag up on my shoulder and heading to hell-class.

Had Rosalie ever mentioned our little meeting? Had Alice been upset that I'd sat back while people gossiped about her? What did Edward think about all this shit? Would this two week respite last, or would another Cullen crash into my life without warning?

Of course, as soon as that thought crossed my mind, I saw Emmett and Rosalie out one of the windows; they were walking across the courtyard, headed towards Building Six. My eyes traced their path and, like they could feel my gaze, the two flawless fucking vampires turned to face me. Rosalie's sneer was bad enough, but what really threw me for a loop was how Emmett let a grin overtake his entire face and waved to me with his whole arm over his head.

Weren't they supposed to be lying low? Not drawing attention? Not interacting with humans all that much? Hadn't Emmett also voted yes to the murder Bella plan? Jesus.

* * *

A few days after that – a few precious, blissfully sunny, Cullen-free days – a snowstorm rolled into town. I knew the moment it hit because it woke me up from a fairly decent sleep, winds buffeting the walls of the house and howling past the shingles on the roof. Well, as I lay wrapped in my blankets with a pillow shoved over my head, I figured it was a snowstorm. There was the tell-tale patter of ice chips flying against my bedroom window and the odd, weighted sound to the howling that only came with thick snow. I groaned because I knew it would take me forever to fall back into dreamland – I was a firebender with the ability to fly, it was pretty kick-ass dream.

Opening my eyes a crack and peering out of my cocoon, bleary eyes struggling to focus on the numbers on the face of my clock, I groaned a second time. It was barely three am. I snuggled back into the blankets and squeezed my eyes shut, taking comfort in the cozy atmosphere and comfort of the wall at my back. Part of me felt very clever, because with my bed under the window there was no way a vampire could sneak in without tripping right over me.

At least that's what I thought.

Don't ask me why I opened my eyes again, don't ask me why I focused on the corner of my room instead of the alarm clock or the ceiling or the floor, I don't know why. I don't even know if I'm grateful I did.

Standing against the far wall, near the door, tucked half behind the bookshelf, was a figure bathed in shadow. My heart lept up into my throat and choked me. I went totally still, all my muscles clenched, my breath caught like acid in my lungs. Moonlight spilled in from a crack in my curtains and fell across the figure's face in a slash, illuminated features that were horrifyingly familiar.

Edward Cullen. Edward Cullen was in my room.

No, no, _no_ , this was not happening! Fuck! This _was not happening_!

Before I could act, before I could even open my mouth to scream, he was gone. My door was left ajar – it had been closed when I went to sleep, so I knew I wasn't dreaming, wasn't imagining it, wasn't having some sort of break with reality.

When I moved, when I was able to move, I bit down on my fist and screamed around it as loud as I dared. I thought I'd been doing good, I thought they'd sated their weird curiosity, I thought they would only bother me at school. Edward hadn't looked murderous in my direction, not once in the whole month I'd shared a class with him, so why? Why was he here? Fuck. _Fuck_! My chest hurt, my temples ached, my heart was beating so fast I thought I might pass out from the rise in blood pressure. I took a shaky breath, then another, and a third.

I slowly pushed the covers off my trembling form and got out of bed, my knees almost buckling underneath me when I stood. There was an anvil in my stomach, a cold sweat to my brow, a sallowness I could feel in my cheeks; my terror was so thick it was like I was swimming through it. I made my way towards the door and reached out with a wobbly hand to grasp the knob.

What was I doing? He would be long gone, right? Or was this a ploy? Would they jump out and gut me the moment I entered the hall? No, no that would be ridiculous. If they wanted to gut me they could have done it in my room, when I was sleeping.

I swallowed around a lumpy amalgamation of my own organs and slowly pulled the door open, stepped lightly into the hallway, stared wide-eyed at familiar surroundings that now felt so sinister. Where did he come in? He couldn't have used the front door because the lock would have to be broken and Charlie-Dad would definitely notice something like that. He couldn't have used my window either, since he didn't leave through it nor did he fall over me on his way in. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore how my teeth chattered.

Realization fell over me, then, and I stumbled towards the bathroom. There was a frosted window in there just large enough for a person Edward's size to squeeze through. It was slid halfway open, but the screen was still in place; I took a closer look. Oh. One of the pegs that held the screen in place was broken off – it hadn't been like that before, I swore on my life.

I slid the window shut with a bang and ran back into my room, nearly falling over twice in my haste and panic. How did he do it? There wasn't a tree outside the bathroom like there was outside my room, so how the fuck did he get up to the window to break the screen and clamber inside? The only thing that made sense was if he'd gotten onto the roof somehow and reached down the side of the house, hung off the eaves like a horrible bat and manoeuvred the screen out of the frame.

Hysterical laughter burbled up in me like a spring, like a fountain, like a can of Coke shook up and opened and sprayed into someone's face. I barely held it back. Leaning against the wall in my room, limbs still weak, hands clasped over a mouth that spread into a maniacal grin, I could hardly breathe. I could hardly think. The image of Edward Cullen hanging from his toes over the edge of my roof just played over and over in my mind, and the more I thought of it the funnier it got. Fuck. _Fuck_. It was funny and it was the most sobering thing to happen in Forks in my second lifetime.

I don't know how I got there, but I was on the floor leaning against my bed, hands clenched in the fabric of my pyjama pants and that absurd smile still twitching on my lips. It wasn't funny, I wasn't happy, but it took all I was to hold the laughter in; I knew if I let it out it wouldn't take long to morph into desperate sobs and I didn't want to wake Dad. But I did. I wanted my dad, I wanted him to wake up and come in and hold me and tell me he would take care of everything and fix everything and _help._

The dad I pictured kept shifting, merging features of Dad-Dad and Charlie-Dad into a blurry mess and-

Oh, wet, my face was wet. That's why everything was so blurry.

I gasped, a thick, wet sound that echoed in the empty room. I couldn't take it, not being safe in my own goddamn house, I couldn't live like that. I couldn't sit back and let vampires slither into my windows and past my thresholds and into my _goddamn home._ Fuck lying low, fuck secrets, fuck safety – I wasn't safe, not when they could come and go whenever they felt like it. I didn't care how crazy it would make me look, I was going to tell them to stay out of my house, I was going to tell Edward Cullen to stay the fuck out of my house and my bathroom and my _bedroom_ and to get the hell off of my roof.

Water dripped down my neck and into my shirt, bleeding wet spots into the worn cloth. I didn't climb back into bed, I didn't turn on a light, I sat there – I sat there and I waited for the sun to rise.

* * *

There were snow chains on the tires of my truck when I headed out for school.

I'd heard Dad get up a bit earlier than normal, heard the front door close earlier than normal, and I figured this was why. I wished he'd asked me to help him, or maybe instructed me while I did it myself, just because he was always doing so much without me even asking and I was starting to feel guilty. Nevertheless, there was a warmth in my chest from the gesture and I felt a little bit lighter as I got into the cab.

Everything was covered in a thick quilt of snow, and there was a shell of ice hardened over that. It coated everything, even where traffic had turned the road into a slushy mess I could catch the glint of black ice hiding underneath. I was lucky I didn't have to shovel the driveway and could just back out, though I knew that was just another thing my dad did in the wee hours of the morning; I decided to shovel the next day if it snowed again – I couldn't let him do everything all the time.

As I drove I tried to stay focused on Charlie-Dad and his kindness, tried to keep my eyes locked on the road ahead as I rolled gently over the ice, but there was a pit in my stomach growing with every second. I had to keep my resolve, my resolution; I had to confront the Cullens. I didn't have the faintest idea how I was going to manage it, what I was going to say, who I was going to say it to, but I had to do something. I would not stand for Edward lurking in my house while I slept, I wouldn't!

There was a good chance they'd deny everything, perhaps even spread it around that I was losing my mind, but I had to try – enough passivity, I was going to grab this bloodsucking bull by the horns.

I took one turn a bit too quickly and felt the crunch of the chains gripping the road, it reverberated up through the suspension and echoed in my bones. I eased off the gas a smidge. It took me maybe five extra minutes to reach Forks High due to the weather, and when I pulled into a parking spot I saw a few fluffy dots of snow begin to fall. I would've smiled, I would've stood out there and tilted my head back and caught those flakes on my tongue, but I couldn't bring myself to get out of the truck.

If I got out of the truck, then the day would start, and if the day started I would move surely along to a moment where I could confront a Cullen. I didn't want the opportunity, I'd rather never catch one of them alone ever again and be able to claim I'd tried my best without actually trying at all.

With the keys out of the ignition and in my bag, I flipped the mirror down and examined my reflection; the girl staring back at me was a mess. I skipped makeup that morning, and it was a morning I really could've used it – the bruises under my eyes were almost impressive. I sighed, sniffed, flipped the mirror back up, reached over to organize the glove compartment, applied a layer of cherry flavoured lip balm, turned the tuning dial on the radio all the way to the right and then all the way back to the left. I didn't want to face this day, all of my conviction leaked out of me like water out of a deflating kiddie pool and I was tired and my limbs felt heavy and I was _tired_. I organized the glove compartment a second time and then, with a wavering hand, opened the door and stepped down into the slush.

Shutting the door with enough force to shake the frame of my truck, I sighed – a deep, long, pathetic sigh that almost rattled in my chest. That's when a Volvo passed in front of me, the Cullens' Volvo, it passed by and pulled into an empty spot five or six cars down from me.

All five damnably beautiful vampires spilled out with their innate grace and fluid movements and began conversing with each other. They were far enough away I couldn't see their eyes; I wondered what colour they were, if they'd be more volatile than usual, if they'd even react when they saw me.

They should, they should fucking react, their brooding brother had slithered into my bedroom and watched me sleep, they better fucking pay me some attention.

I didn't expect them to, really, the most I anticipated was Alice _maybe_ waving to me as she walked by. I definitely didn't think she'd catch my eye and start coming towards me. Well she tried, I think, but Rosalie's hand shot out in a literal blur and grabbed onto the smaller vampire's arm. From where I stood, not twenty feet away, I wondered how hard that grip was. Would it have snapped my bone in half, or crumbled it to dust, or reduced my muscles to nothing more than pulpy red porridge?

I curled my fist around the door handle as something to ground me as I peered over the windshield and stared at the Cullens. Fuck, I was staring. I brought my hands to my chest and whirled around, put my back to them and the door, and maybe that was even worse but I couldn't stand those imploring looks. Alice and Rosalie had been arguing, but the rest were looking at me directly, whether just chancing a glance or angling their whole heads. Even with so many examples, I hadn't been able to pinpoint the colour swirling in their eyes.

Facing the other way, where there were no other cars because I'd parked right at the end of the aisle that opened into empty asphalt, something about the situation triggered a memory. Oh, oh right, the car scene, the scene where Edward saved Bella's life by standing between her and a speeding van, that's what I was remembering. You'd think, after rereading my notes, I wouldn't have forgotten, but I wasn't even in the same month she'd been in, the timeline completely threw me off.

Worry buried its spindly fingers into my gut, then. Sure, it was a different month, but so many other things had changed, little things, insignificant things, things that should've discredited all my knowledge but somehow worked to reinforce it. I couldn't be sure. What if this was something that changed and didn't at the same time? What if the child of Renee Dwyer and Charlie Swan was destined to get smushed by a reckless teen driver only to be saved at the last second on the whim of a frowny vampire?

No, that was ridiculous. It had been a completely random chain of events that led to that accident, random events that definitely couldn't be replicated after all the little changes I'd made to the timeline just by existing. It was impossible, preposterous even.

Then I heard it, a high pitched squeal so loud I could feel my eardrums vibrating.

No.

Something was careening towards me, a vehicle, all metal and glass and thick plastic, hurtling forward with a dreadful screech.

 _No!_

It wasn't a van.

Fucking _ridiculous_ , no! _No. Not happening._ No way in any level of hell was that car coming in my direction, not after my perfectly logical goddamn reasoning, not after all the other shit I'd done differently, _no_ , I _refused._

The car didn't seem to give a single fuck about my refusal, it kept on coming. There was a rush of pure cold throughout my entire body that I guess had to be adrenaline, but there wasn't any time to do anything with it. That car was the fastest thing I'd ever seen, speeding, screeching, sliding towards me on a patch of black ice. Closer, closer, and the face of the driver pulled into abject horror – I could see the whites of their eyes, the exaggerated pull of their mouth in a scream I couldn't hear. I saw the stylized Toyota 'T' brandished on the grille and a crack running along the top corner of the windshield and I barely had time to open my mouth before I was slammed into with the force of sledgehammer.

I went flying sideways, plowed into the asphalt at a speed that tore a hole clean through my jacket when I collided, and it was in the split second before my skull cracked back onto the ground that I realized I had been pushed out of the way. Someone with exceptional strength had pushed me out of the way.

Then my head made contact with a _smack_ that echoed up between my ears and behind my eyes and everything fuzzed out to black. Only for a second. The moment evaporated and everything was dull and grey and I could hear this deep church bell ringing out in the background. My neck ached, my hands were cold, my arms felt soggy.

Still laying sprawled where I was thrown, not even trying to sit up, I saw the front of the car accordion-folded into the driver's side of my truck. There was a dent, a huge dent in my truck, how was I going to fix that? How could I fix it? Would I have to hammer it out? What would Charlie-Dad say, I'd gone and fucked up the truck and it hadn't even been a whole month.

My vision was blurred, but colours were bleeding back into the image like an inkblot. I saw the driver of the Toyota slumped over their steering wheel, the windshield now caved inwards and barely held together in shards, smoke or steam or something curling up from under the mangled hood. It was blue, this weird, greyed-out blue smoke that rose in thick gobs into the air – what did blue smoke mean? Did it mean something? How was it blue?

Someone was kneeling at my side, then, and I jerked away in fright. They hadn't been there before, they hadn't, just me and the smoke and the dent in the truck and-

The church bells were fading and another high pitched noise was filtering in, and it was a quick moment before I recognized it to be screaming. People were screaming, I couldn't make out the words, could only hear the screech of overlapping voices, and it sounded eerily like the screech of those brakes as the car skid out of control. Screaming, screaming, a single shout – deeper, stricter than the rest, and hush.

I pushed myself up on my elbow and immediately my stomach roiled. I gagged, tasted bile in my throat, swallowed it back down. I used the arm I wasn't leaning on to reach up towards my head, even though the limb ached something fierce and the cold air stung some newly exposed nerves, then gingerly prodded the throbbing part behind my ear. The church bells came back full force, and my hand came away covered in warm, warm red.

I sat up the rest of the way, slowly. My hands on my knees, smearing blood over my clothes, I hunched over and tried to quell the gonging in my skull. It faded, but I knew I shouldn't touch that spot again.

The person next to me waved a hand in front of my face and I turned, wincing at the stiffness in my neck. When my eyes focused, the cold rush of adrenaline flooded back into me, head to toe – my head was pounding but it was far, far away. Alice Cullen was knelt down on the slushy ground, her face contorted in this visceral expression I couldn't place. Her eyes, her eyes, what colour? No, no it didn't matter, it didn't matter, they'd be black! I was bleeding, I was bleeding and there was a... there was one, two... no, five vampires lurking in the wings!

Alice leaned in, her lips moving, but I could only hear the rush of my own blood. I scrambled backwards on my hands, salt and slush and cold digging into my palms, and I lept to my feet. I got one leg under me, barely, my other moving to support myself, when I collapsed in a heap.

The ringing, the black, the echoing throb of pain in my head, it came rushing back, and that cold feeling drained right out of me. I was bleeding, I was bleeding, vampires, vampires were right there, I was bleeding! The slush soaked into my clothes, should've been chilling me to my core, but I was lukewarm. My heart was pumping furiously and I could feel the scorching heat of my own blood running into my hair and down my neck.

I couldn't hear, I couldn't hear, and out of the din... a siren.

Then? Nothing.

* * *

 **AN: Please, tell me what you think! How did I do with the car scene? Is there a reason these things are all happening like they did in the book or is Etta just unlucky? Who do you think was driving the car? Thank you to everyone who has favourited and followed this story, and an extra special thanks to _Aladine98, Lilisni (Guest), lostmyhcad, KristaNicole9678, silentmayhem, Guest, orchidluv, GraceEllingson, mynameisella, marlastiano, NuncaNiem_ , and _MozzarellaMermaid_ for taking the time to review the last chapter. Even if it's to tell me I got something wrong, or to question some choices I made, or to criticize, I appreciate all types of feedback. I'll start replying to each review from now on! I'm sorry I haven't before, but life has been kind of hectic for a while. Hope everyone has a great week!**


	10. Chapter 10

Alice Cullen had never met a person she couldn't See.

Since the moment she woke up in her new world as a vampire, the moment her memories started, her visions had been absolute. Whether they came out of the blue or she focused for a good long while, she was able to See the outcome of endless decisions, the futures of hundreds of people – that was how she protected her family.

Edward would scan the minds of the humans in town and check if any of them were suspicious or curious or had a theory that was too close to the truth, and she would Look into the future for decisions or events that would expose them. With the two of them working in tandem they were able to head off any accidents or tragedies before the even started.

Which was why, when Edward found a girl he couldn't read, Alice honed her power in on the small town of Forks and made sure no one would find out about them. She was sure she was right, after all, she hadn't Seen the news spreading or the Volturi being called down on their heads or even a new rumour circulating the halls of the high school. However, as the days went on, as she watched Loretta Swan and took note of just how jumpy she was around Alice and her coven-mates, there was a niggling tendril of doubt weaving into the vampire's brain.

So Alice looked again, focused on Loretta specifically, and was instantly intrigued. Loretta Swan was hazy – her future, that is. Like peering through a glass of milk, Alice could only make out the most rudimentary shapes in her visions of the girl. She had never met a person, human or vampire, that she couldn't See, and it was fascinating.

Loretta was a nice girl, a little sarcastic, reeked of anxiety most days, but nice, so it wasn't like it was a hardship to strike up a conversation. Alice gave herself some time, let herself acclimate to the girl's presence and scent and the feel of her, in hopes that familiarity would give way to clearer visions; it didn't.

Edward was right, though – Loretta didn't smell like any other human. She had the overlaying scents, the perfume, the soap, the pheromones, the emotions, but the cloying sweetness of blood wasn't even an undertone. Alice could hear her beating heart, see the flush in her cheeks, but thirst stayed far away in the background of their interactions.

After spending those few days talking to her, using her nicknames, telling her some highly edited family stories, Alice found herself getting attached. She shouldn't have, she should've known better, but it was such a novelty to meet someone who wasn't simpering or batting their eyelashes.

Loretta only appeared in visions unimpeded as the direct consequence of someone else's actions, like the argument Rosalie had started in the library – she Saw it happen, Saw Loretta, but only because Rosalie had been one hundred percent in control of the moment, and the second Loretta made choice, decided to say something, the vision whited out again. Jasper couldn't feel her either, couldn't catch a trace of the human's emotions no matter how hard he focused, and when that was discovered was when the whole family had a meeting.

Rosalie had been especially vocal, hissing and spitting and declaring that Alice and Edward had no self preservation and they had to stop being so friendly with the one human who could actually be a threat. After that, Alice, under Carlisle's admonishment, backed off.

It wasn't until weeks later, weeks of staying polite yet distant, that she Saw Loretta again – this time because of Edward. He was so frustrated with his inability to read her mind he'd broken into her room to see if her mental defences would go down as she slept; he was disappointed. Of course the whole family had found out, and then Rosalie was yelling again and Jasper needed to use his ability to calm down the room and Edward was looking contrite but not truly sorry.

It was a tense ride to school the next morning, Rosalie fuming the whole way and snarling when they passed Loretta in the student parking lot. It was made even worse when, as they all disembarked from the car, Alice got a third vision featuring Loretta Swan in the supporting role.

Blood, so much blood, she'd be pulverized by that car, cleaved nearly in half, and the red would spill out over the pavement and pool around her truck in crimson puddles. Edward read it from her mind, she saw the moment it dawned on him, but as the vision flickered in and out they both realized the impossible; her blood wouldn't mean anything. It wouldn't draw them, wouldn't call to them, wouldn't send Jasper into a frenzy, it would flow past them with as little attraction as cool water on a hot day.

If that were the case, why did Alice still want to save her?

Edward didn't make a move because, as strange, as odd, as impossible as it was, as much as he wanted to solve the mystery of this unreadable girl, saving her would draw too much attention. Alice stepped forward, about to intervene, when Rosalie grabbed her arm.

"What are you doing?" She snapped, lips barely moving, "We're going to stay away from her, remember?"

"Yes, but-" Alice started and was cut off.

"But nothing! Whatever it is, it doesn't matter; I don't care, you _shouldn't_ care," Rosalie impressed, grip tightening, "Leave the human _alone_."

But it did matter, it mattered because, as she started to take that step, she got another vision. Loretta was in this one too, but so were Rosalie and Edward, and Etta had her head thrown back in laughter, and Rosalie was smiling, and Edward was content, and there was a fourth person. An arm wrapped around Etta's waist, a kiss pressed to the girl's temple, a soft smile illuminated golden eyes.

Alice knew this future was directly connected to the action she had been about to take, would never come to pass if she didn't keep moving, and there was a Toyota swerving out of control around the corner and she was running out of time to choose. It was that smile that spurred her on, not Etta's, but the one pressed gently against her honey-dark hair, the happiest smile she'd ever seen on that face.

She wrenched herself from Rosalie's grip, ignored the angered shout that escaped sharp from behind the other vampire's teeth, and ran. There weren't enough people in the lot for her speed to matter, the ones that did see would just explain it away as adrenaline or a trick of their eyes, and those scattered visions of typical human complacency urged her onward. She reached Loretta just as the car was about to plow into her legs and threw the girl to the ground out of the way, throwing herself on her knees next to her, and the Toyota crashed into the orange Ford not two feet behind them.

There was blood, not a lot, but enough that, if Alice's vision hadn't been correct, it would've been a problem.

"Etta?" Alice cried, brows drawn up in concern, "Etta, can you hear me? Are you alright?"

She could hear the girl's heartbeat speed and stutter, smell the salt of her skin and the slush on the road, but the rivulets of blood running down Etta's head and arm smelled like nothing at all – perhaps a hint of iron, but it was so faint. It was hard to believe her mouth wasn't filling with venom, her eyes weren't going black with thirst, that this human blood meant so little to her.

Alice watched as Etta shakily sat up, watched as the human's eyes hazed in and out of focus, as she reached for her head wound and hissed in pain. She just watched for a moment, then, "Etta? Etta you need to say something." No response.

Perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing, but Alice waved her hand slowly in front of Etta's face to catch the girl's attention. She was bound to have a concussion, would probably need stitches for both her scalp and her arm, and Alice was worried for a moment she'd used too much strength and damaged the girl irreparably.

Reacting to the hand in her face, Etta jerked back. She turned, hazy brown eyes meeting clear gold, and Alice was about to reach out to steady her when Etta scrambled backwards on her hands. Her face was contorted in fear as she fled, her pupils uneven pinpricks lost in the whites of her eyes, her voice coming out in a slurred whisper barely audible to Alice's acute hearing. "No, _no_ , four, _no_ , five," Etta was still crawling away, her limbs flailing erratically as she fought to control them, "Blood, _blood_ , black, black eyes, _blood_."

Alice still had a beating heart it would've stopped in her chest. What was the girl saying? Why was she so scared? Black eyes? No, Alice wasn't even thirsty, she'd fed only two day ago and Etta's blood had no draw whatsoever, there was no way her eyes were black.

If they weren't black, though, what was Etta talking about? How would she know?

Obviously, in the vision, someone had told her, but how did she know _now_?

The petite vampire just watched, unnaturally still, as Etta struggled to her feet and managed half a step before collapsing into a heap of unconsciousness. Alice didn't catch her, didn't make another move towards her, because she was too stuck on those rambled words.

The teenagers in the parking lot were letting out screams, whimpering, whispering to each other in horror; Alice was able to catch every word, from the authoritative yelling of Mr. Varner, who had come running out of Building Five after the crash, to the angry muttering of Rosalie back where she stood next to Edward's Volvo.

"Has somebody called 911!?"

"Oh my god, do you think they're okay?"

"Who the fuck was driving that thing!?"

"She's so lucky Alice was there."

"Is that Greg? Greg! Greg, oh my god, somebody help!"

"Alice, I cannot believe you, what did I just say? Carlisle is going to hear about this, I swear."

Black eyes, she'd said something about black eyes. Had Rosalie been right? Had Loretta been a threat the entire time, brushed over because of their own curiosity? Had that been the confused muttering of a concussed human or the terrified begging of someone who _knew_?

An ambulance pulled into the parking lot with its siren going, coming to a stop five feet from the blonde girl's limp form, and three paramedics piled out. Two brought a gurney down from the back of the ambulance and the third came over to crouch in front of Alice.

"Are you okay, miss?" The paramedic asked, soft but forceful, "Were you involved in the crash? Are you injured?"

Alice snapped back, her mind swimming with half formed visions, and finally remembered to breathe like she was supposed to. "I just pushed her out of the way but... but she hit her head," she faked a stammer, made sure to tremble as she stood, "I didn't mean for her to get hurt, is she going to be alright?"

A second ambulance appeared, siren also blaring, as the paramedic said, "We're going to take her to the hospital and she'll get all checked out, I'm sure she'll be fine. Hey, you're one of Dr. Cullen's kids, right?"

"Yes."

"Your father is in the ER today, he'll patch her right up. Now, you're sure you're okay?"

Alice nodded, gaze fixed on where the other two men were wheeling Loretta up into the back of the ambulance. Rosalie was right, this was dangerous. She'd have to tell Carlisle what she heard, what she saw, Loretta's rambling about blood and black eyes. With one last look, the paramedic left Alice's side and climbed up beside the gurney on which Loretta lay.

Snowflakes were still falling as the ambulance tore out of the parking lot and sped up the road, siren yelping, lights flashing, leaving the smell of antiseptic and saline wafting on the air. The second crew were helping the driver of the Toyota, Gregory James, into their own ambulance.

Part of Alice was incensed, her fist curled dangerously at her side - how dare he be up and walking while her... (friend? acquaintance? human?) was lost to the world, unable to support herself? But that was Alice's fault, too. If she had only reigned in her strength, been more gentle, then Loretta wouldn't have gotten her head bashed against the ground like that.

She remembered to breathe again, to put on her human facade, and then Edward was at her side with an inscrutable look.

 _I had to,_ she thought at him, _you saw what I saw, you saw who she was with._

Edward's eyes narrowed.

Alice shot back, _Did anyone even think anything of me, of my speed? Do they suspect anything at all?_

His gaze moved over the crowd, most of whom hadn't been there when she'd pushed Loretta from the path of the car, and jerked his head once to the left.

 _Is that a no or a maybe?_ She asked sarcastically, already having Seen there would be no danger from outsiders.

"No," Edward said, too quietly for human ears, "No one thinks anything's off, they all explained it away."

Alice's mouth moved into a contented smile, _See, I knew what I was doing!_

"What about what she said?"

 _Nothing, it was nothing,_ she feigned indifference, she had to tell Carlisle but Edward didn't have to pry until then, _she's concussed, she didn't know what she was-_

"Alice. Cullen." Rosalie was on her other side, growling, "What. Was. _That_?"

* * *

I woke up in a sharp jerk, all at once, every muscle contracting and jackknifing me where I lay. Lay? I was lying down? I opened my bleary eyes and found myself staring up at the inside of a van, with cupboards and an IV line and the face of a strange man hovering over me.

An ambulance? The man wore a blue uniform, but my sight wouldn't focus to read the patch on his sleeve; I was unsure.

Everything was dry and tasted like plastic, and that's when I noticed the mask over my mouth and nose. I reached for it, but the paramedic(?) stopped my grab with a gentle hand and shook his head. His mouth was moving, he was talking, but my ears were plugged like I was underwater. What the fuck was he saying? He turned away towards a cupboard and I tried to follow his movement, but something stopped my neck from even twitching. My hand made it to its destination that time and, as I felt around the device strapped onto me, I realized it was a neck brace.

Why was I in an ambulance? Why did I have a neck brace? Why the mask? Why couldn't I hear? Sound filtered in through the cotton, garbled like the adults on Charlie Brown, cutting in and out, and then the paramedic was leaning over me again. "Can you understand me, Loretta?"

I tried to nod and was stopped by the brace. I rasped out a weak, "Yeah," instead.

"Good, that's good," he said, and affixed a blood pressure cuff to my upper arm, "My name is Paul, do you remember what happened?"

Happened? Something? Wait, it was coming back, a tidal wave of fragmented memory and migraine pain. The parking lot! Something... the Cullens! No, wait, a Cullen pushed me out of the way. Fuck, fuck, the car! The car, it was the car scene – after seventeen years of choices I still got the goddamn car scene. Shit, the guy, Paul, was still waiting for my answer.

"Car," I said, "Car almost hit me."

He nodded, "That's right, and you hit your head, do you remember how that happened?"

Who pushed me? It felt like the car actually hit me, so it had to be a vampire. Who? It was coming back, twinges of the panic I felt, and then... Alice, Alice's face, Alice kneeling next to me. She'd saved me. Why? To stop my blood from spilling? Had she run at super speeds just to keep me alive?

My throat was dry, I wanted water or ice chips or something, "Alice pushed me."

"That's right," he held his hand in front of my face, pointer finger up, "Now, I want you to follow my finger with your eyes, can you do that for me?"

He moved his hand left to right and I followed it, my gaze only trailing a little, my head only aching a little, but when he put his hand down I noticed his lips were drawn in a tight line. Did I fuck up that badly?

Paul, I suppose I should call him that, rummaged in one of the cupboards again, checked the IV line running into my arm, then pumped the pressure cuff to the point of pain. I sucked in a sharp breath, the sensation of the cuff nearly overloading my throbbing brain.

"We're en route to Forks Hospital, Loretta, we'll be there in a few minutes."

I heard a yelp from outside I recognized as a siren. The ambulance siren, from the ambulance I was riding in. Everything shook as we went over a bump or a pothole or something, and I watched Paul brace himself on the side of my gurney. Was he supposed to do that? What if he jostled me? Not that I was in any delicate condition or anything, but what if I was a major trauma patient and he did that? God, no, not going to even bother with that shit. I was tired.

My eyes drifted shut for a moment, not even a second, then-

"Loretta!" Paul, fucking Paul, barked my name, "You can't fall asleep yet, I'm sorry, we have to get you into the hospital before you can rest, okay?"

Why hadn't Alice drained me dry? I had to have bled all over the place, I could feel it matting in my hair and on my coat sleeve. Were they just that good? Did they just have better control than Meyer said? What about Jasper? What about being Edward's singer? Was I even Edward's singer? He didn't glare at me...

"Loretta!"

I groaned, my eyes fluttering back open, "Whaya want, Paul?"

His eyebrows went up to his hairline, then quickly back down, "You can't close your eyes, Loretta, you most likely have a concussion, you can't go to sleep."

"Wasn't sleepin'," I muttered with a pout, "Was thinkin'."

I swear Paul rolled his eyes, I swear to god he did, but from my angle and the way the brace forced my neck straight it wasn't easy to see. Were paramedics supposed to be so flippant?

There was another jolt, the ambulance making a sharp turn, and then another shock as the vehicle pulled to a halt. Paul stood up, checked the safety rail on my gurney, and opened the big doors at the back. I could hear someone else out there, their feet splashing in the watery slush, but I couldn't move my head to look at them.

My gurney was moving, Paul was at my head, pushing me towards the open doors, and I felt the second person grab the other end and extend the wheels. I stared up at Paul's face as I was rolled into the hospital; it wasn't a flattering angle. He was an average looking guy, fit, tanned with bit of stubble over his jaw, but I was faced with an impressive number of nose hairs and couldn't help but try to count them. I got to number two before I realized it was boring, it was weird, and my eyes weren't good enough to discern a hundred little hairs in some guy's nose.

They wheeled me through the ER to a little area blocked off with a curtain they pushed away to reveal what looked to be a hospital bed and a heart monitor to my peripheral vision. God, were they going to hook me up to that thing? Was I going to have to hear the beeping for hours and hours?

"We're going to move you to the bed, alright Loretta?" Paul told me, looking down – he had grey eyes. Weird, I had grey eyes – well, bluey grey, wait, wait no, they were brown. There was a crease between Paul's eyebrows, "Loretta?"  
"Yeah, yes," I said, "Yeah, move me. High ho Silver, away, et cetera."

I finally stopped staring at Paul-the-paramedic's statistically average face and braced myself.  
"On three," the second person said, and I felt hands grab at the corners of the sheet I was lying on.

"One, two," Paul counted, I imagined I could feel them tensing up, ready to lift, "three."

I was in the air, my stomach was swaying, and I was on the hospital bed before I could even process my own nausea. I heard the rough crinkly sound of the pillow cover and gripped the corner of the sheet still stuck underneath me, it was grounding even though my head was hardly spinning anymore. I watched from the corner of my eye as Paul and nameless-second-paramedic transferred my IV bag to the pole next to the bed and put the safety rail on the gurney down. It was starting to bother me, not being able to move my head.

Paul turned to me, "A doctor will be with you shortly, Loretta, will you be alright until then?"

My first reaction was, again, to nod, but that didn't work out. Fucking annoying automatic reactions. I licked my dry lips and instead said, "Yeppers."

Nameless-second-paramedic huffed a chuckle, Paul shot him a look, and then the two of them were wheeling the empty gurney back down the hall out of sight. Would I ever see Paul again? Maybe, probably, I mean, Forks was a small town. I could see him at the grocery store next week, pass him on the road on a trip to Port Angeles, whatever. It didn't matter that much, but sometimes, when I met people Meyer had never described, I felt a bit more free – I felt like I wasn't confined in some poorly written teen novel, I felt like I was actually living a life.

I wanted to rip the neck brace off, sit up, and take a better look around, but the slow throbbing of my brain persuaded me that doing so would be sort of Not Good. I still sat up, though, and twisted my entire upper body to scope out the rest of the ER. It was basically empty, a couple nurses scuttled about with purpose, their heads bowed towards clipboards and papers, but no-one came immediately to my side.

I waited. I settled back down in the bed since staying upright was aggravating my head, laid my hands over my stomach, stared at the peachy-pink privacy curtain that wasn't drawn around my little alcove, and waited.

It was a couple of long, boring minutes before I heard footsteps coming in my direction. At first I thought it was another nurse, but when a shape obscured the light and cast my feet into shadow I took a look. I took a look and I was stunned.

No matter how many vampires I met, I didn't get used to it – they were all ethereal. This one, angular, blonde, in a white doctor's coat, could be nobody other than Carlisle Cullen. He was tall, over six feet, and looked as similar to his vaguely-remembered movie counterpart the rest of the Cullens – that is to say, not at all. Not as beautiful as Rosalie, nor as charming as Alice, but definitely more captivating than Emmett or Edward or Jasper.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Cullen," he said, marking something down on my chart and hanging it back off the foot board, "If you could just sit up for me, I'll run a couple tests and you'll be out of here before you know it."

I would've nodded if not for the goddamn motherfucking neck brace, and fuck was I saying that a lot. I didn't nod, because I couldn't, so I was about to make some sort of noise of affirmation when I noticed the perfect man in front of me go still. Not human still, obviously not, but statue still, freeze-frame still, still like a sculpture or a painting or a photograph, not moving an inch.

I watched his face, his eyes, making sure they stayed gold instead of shifting to ravenous black. Then, no more than a split second after, he continued his motion like he never stopped. Had I imagined it? Had he stalled like bad video game graphics? What the fuck was that?

He looked up, his eyes a deep caramel that seemed to be one of the inbetweens they had; from feeding to feeding the eyes of the Cullens' at school would cycle through myriad golden shades until hitting black. There was a serene smile on his face, a Customer Service smile that somehow looked genuine, and he had the trademark dark circles of every vampire I'd met so far.

Carlisle acted like he hadn't glitched like a shoddy connection only moments before and gave me an expectant look. Oh, right, sitting up. I did that. He pulled out a blood pressure cuff and took my readings – the second time someone had done that to me in the past hour. After came the flash of a penlight in my eyes, sending sharp bursts of pain into my retinas.

"Your pupils are dilating irregularly," he told me, lips pursed in a concerned line, "We'll have a couple nurses come wheel you over to Radiology and take a few x-rays, just to make sure everything's okay up there. It shouldn't take too long. I'll come back to check on you once I've looked over your results, alright?"

"Okay," I replied. I wondered where Charlie-Dad was, if he knew what had happened, if he'd been called. I wondered if anyone else had come to the hospital out of curiosity like they had when Bella was almost flattened. I hoped not, I didn't want to deal with all the staring and the confusion and the glances of pity.

Two different paramedics came in, then, wheeling another gurney. On it lay Gregory James, and the entire side of his face was drenched in blood that seeped into his shirt. It was dark, too, and there was this sheen to the centre of the wound that made it look lumpy and black, like arterial blood over brain. He was pushed through the ER more quickly than I was, and his gurney disappeared through another door. I couldn't see the sign above it because, again, the neck brace restrained me.

Carlisle – perhaps I should just call him Dr. Cullen, to be safe, so I didn't slip up – Dr. Cullen excused himself then and went off after the gurney just as a page came over the speakers calling him away.

I blinked. I waited. Was Gregory James gonna be okay? Was he gonna die cause he smashed into my truck? Would Paige be pissed that my truck killed her boyfriend?

Two nurses came from down opposite hall, then, to take me through the maze of hospital corridors to get my x-rays. They introduced themselves, maybe, I don't really remember, and as such I definitely didn't remember their names. Of course, as I was being pushed out of the ER, the same door that gave way to Greg's entrance gave way a second time.

"Etta! Loretta, are you in here? Are you okay?" Charlie-Dad sounded frantic, his voice raised higher than I'd heard it in seventeen years.

The nurses stopped and one of them, a redhead, spoke up, "Chief Swan, she's over here."

He ran over, "Good God, Etta, honey, how are you feeling?"

"Um, a little achey, to be honest," I said sheepishly.

"Don't be so flippant," he huffed, and then one of his hands was clasping my own, "Where are they taking you?"

Redhead-nurse piped up, "X-rays, just to see how her head's doing. After that Dr. Cullen will take a look at the images and come see her."

Charlie-Dad tensed, "X-rays?" It was then he seemed to notice the dried blood crusted onto me and he went a few shades paler. "Hell, honey, you're bleeding, how bad was it, how bad was the crash?"

"The car didn't even hit me Dad, it looks much worse than it actually is."

His face softened, "If you didn't get hit, why are you all bloody?"

I snorted, "I hit my head on the road when Alice pushed me out of the way."

"Alice? Alice Cullen?"

"Yeah," I said, still wrapping my head around it, "If it weren't for her I'd be in a lot worse shape, like, flat like a pancake kinda shape."

A distressed noise made it past his teeth. He looked to the nurses, a V drawn between his brows, "Can I go with her to get the x-rays done?"

Apparently he could, they told him as much. Which was how I ended up being wheeled through the hospital, my left hand gripped tight in my dad's hold, listening to him mutter about how the kid who did this would definitely be getting his license suspended, would definitely not be getting out of this one, how dare someone be so reckless, how could they be so irresponsible, et cetera.

I thought back to the viscera decorating Gregory James' face and thought, privately, that he was probably paying for his mistake enough.

* * *

 **AN: I know, this story is slow. But hey, it's getting there. I don't want to simply summarize what happened in the book, I kind of want to make it feel like Loretta is actually experiencing it. Hopefully it's working out. Any theories as to who Alice saw Etta with in her vision? I'd love to hear any thoughts! Speaking of thoughts,** **I've gotten some reviews talking about how annoying Etta's anxious rambling is, and I agree, it's meant to be a character flaw, that she overthinks, that she tries to control things, and hopefully I'll be able to show her growing out of that as the story goes on. If you can stick with me that long, that is. Even so, I appreciate you guys telling me about your opinions, even if they're annoyed opinions.**

 **Thank you to _Sheridan111000, Kay Starlight, Bekbek(Guest), MozzarellaMermaid, Aye-Sir, May(Guest), emagirl20041(Guest), melin-hope, Lilisni(Guest), serenaonthestar, GraceEllingson, marlastiano, orchidluv, Littlevbigdreams, NuncaNiem, Aladine98_ , and _silentmayhem_ for taking the time to review the last chapter. And thank you to everyone who has favourited and followed! It means a lot, you don't even know.**


	11. Chapter 11

My skull was up on the wall, blown up and back-lit, and boy was it weird to look at your own bones. Thankfully, bones were all I was looking at. There were no ominous dark splotches that could've signified a brain bleed or odd gaps from fractures, so I figured that meant I was good to go. My neck was totally brace free and had been since they'd brought me back from Radiology to await my results. Dad had been ushered into the waiting room and was, presumably, still out there.

After that a nurse had glued my head wound shut and wrapped up the slash on my arm while I waited for Carlisle to come back. He did, when my hair was flipped over my face and glue was matting it to my scalp; I must've looked ridiculous, but he didn't laugh.

Gregory James had been moved only a few beds down from me, though I didn't think he was awake. I mean, I wasn't sure, since the privacy curtain was drawn for him, but I could hear the steady beep of his heart monitor and absolutely nothing else. So, conscious at least, there was only me and Carli- Dr. Cullen. His back was slightly to me as he examined the x-rays, his finger tapping lightly against his jaw. I didn't honestly think people did that.

"Well, from these images, your head looks perfectly fine," he said, turning to me with another Customer Service smile, "However, I do think you have a mild concussion, so I'd advise you avoid gym class for the next few weeks."

I nodded, relieved to be able to nod again.

"Maybe hold off on the nodding, too, just for a while."

"Oh come on, no nodding, really?" I groaned.

Dr. Cullen shrugged, as if saying 'what can you do?', before stepping closer to where I sat on the edge of the bed. He took out his penlight a second time and flashed it before my eyes, "Your pupils are reacting normally again, have you had anymore trouble with your hearing or vision?"

I shook my head.

"Miss Swan, please," he almost sounded exasperated. Would I have that effect on every medical professional I met?

"What, that wasn't a nod."

He merely smiled, "I imagine you have a bit of a headache, yes?"

I almost nodded again just to spite him – I didn't, even though I really wanted to. Instead I said, "A little."

"Take a couple ibuprofen when you get home," he told me, and the kind look was back on his face, "Then another every six hours if the headache persists, If it hasn't passed in two days, come back to see me, alright? We'll do another check up. Headaches are quite common with these types of injuries, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

"None of the good stuff, huh?" It was out of my mouth before I even thought about it. Something about the doctor's coat made him seem less dangerous than the other Cullens, and of course, as soon as I was comfy, I had to go and joke about opiates.

Instead of the scorn or disapproval I expected, I got a chuckle instead. It was, like every sound that came out of a Cullen, melodious. "No," he mused, "none of the 'good stuff' for a headache, I'm afraid."

He was gorgeous. I hated it. I hated how they were all perfect and pretty and impossible not to stare at. My face was pink, I could tell, I was blushing because of my motherfucking doctor, what a new low. Even though I knew he could theoretically rip my throat out, I thought he was hot, and that chuckle hadn't helped. It wasn't my fault, I told myself, it wasn't my fault that the married doctor was physically closer to my actual age than any of the other vampires I'd met.

I'm not sorry I didn't find teenagers attractive, okay? Well, they were all attractive in an objective sense, but I meant in a subjective way. Goddammit.

"Your father is just outside in the waiting room," he said, then seemed to think for a moment before continuing, "I think it's only fair to warn you that a good portion of the school is out there as well."

Fuck. "Thanks."

"If you'll excuse me, I need to go speak with Mr. James' father." Carli- Dr. Cullen didn't even turn away before he added, "Now that I mention it, he's in the waiting room as well. Would you mind terribly if I walked you out?"

"Uh, nope," I hopped off the bed. It was still jarring to have to do that, to not have my feet planted solidly on the ground when I sat on a high surface. Damn height, damn genetics.

We walked together, Dr. Cullen holding the door for me as we passed into the waiting room, and I was met with the expectant eyes of a good portion of the Forks High student body. I sighed, small towns sure could grate on the nerves sometimes.

I watched as the good doctor headed over to the only man other than Charlie-Dad above the age of eighteen and begin a quiet discussion in the corner; that had to be Greg's dad. At least he hadn't died, that would've been a downer. I bit back a scoff, god I was fucking horrible.

Charlie-Dad stood and came towards me, and that started a small rush of students coming my way as well, everyone asking questions at once. A glare from dad got most of them to back off, but those questions were still being pointed my way. Are you okay? That was so scary, were you scared? You're so lucky Alice was there! I can't believe Alice _Cullen_ saved you! On and on and on.

I saw, standing off to the edge of the crowd, Paige was biting her nails, gaze darting back and forth between myself and Dr. Cullen talking to Greg's dad. Her eyes were red rimmed, her coat half unzipped – she was completely frazzled. I was contemplating going over to her, asking her if she was okay, because her boyfriend was still unconscious and had also almost killed someone, but before I could make my way over to her I felt someone stand a bit too close in my personal space.

I expected a Cullen, not going to lie, I expected Alice, but then again, the crowd would've gone all silent if she showed up. So, okay, not Alice. I turned, and Angie was on my right, and her arms were out like she wanted a hug, and I stepped into them and rested my head on her shoulder.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she said, choking a little on the words.

I could feel the glue tugging at my hair, the awkward grip of the bandages on my forearm, and I replied, "Ha, me too."

Down at the end of the waiting room, away from the crowd, next to the big entrance doors, stood Alice Cullen. How no one had noticed her, I didn't know. She seemed to know the moment I spotted her, though, because she gave a wave, and then she swept out of the hospital with a subtle flourish only extremely graceful people could ever pull off.

I watched all this over Angie's shoulder and, when I moved away from my friend's embrace to the one my dad was pulling me into, I tried to ignore the fluttering of heart. Why didn't Alice stick around? I couldn't believe it – the one day I'd convinced myself to talk to the Cullens and this happened.

* * *

"Mom, Mom!" I yelled into the phone, trying to mitigate the hysterics taking place hundreds of miles away, "I promise, I'm fine. The car didn't even touch me, and the doctor gave me a pass, and my headache is nearly gone, and everything is _fine_."

"I still think you should come home, Etta, it's just not safe-"

"I am home, mom," I said, "I love you, you know that, but I love dad and Forks, too."

She made a distressed noise on the other end.

"Mom, please, it really wasn't that bad, trust me."

A long pause during which I imagined her flitting about like a hummingbird, "Alright, alright honey, but if anything else like this happens, you have to tell me, okay?"

"Yes Mom, I will."

Renee-Mom sighed, "Okay. I'm so happy you're alright, Etta, you have no idea what it was like, getting that phone call from your father."

I did, actually, I'd gotten a phone call like that before. It was a hazy memory, my aunt calling me and telling me my grandmother had a heart attack, had died and laid there for hours before anyone found her, but it's not like I could tell Renee that.

Three assurances and two apologies later I'd hung up the phone. Renee-Mom was always a little bit... out there. Flighty was the right term, though a bit harsh. I sighed. There was a large part of me that was annoyed, honestly, I'd been an adult, I'd taken care of myself. It was worse when I was a little kid, god, having to check in and hold hands to cross the road and ask permission and adhere to bedtimes – a nightmare, the whole experience.

Of course, that part was offset by the larger bit that felt protected and cherished when my parents did all those things. There was a lot of back and forth in my opinions.

Speaking of back and forth. I picked my phone back up and flipped it open. The screen was small, grainy, monochrome – god, it was the pinnacle of technology. I scrolled over to the log and found the one short conversation that didn't have a contact name. That was Alice. I hesitated, thumb stroking the number pad absentmindedly. It was reasonable for me to have questions, right? Like, reasonable if I didn't know what I knew, I meant. Bella had been curious and she'd been totally clueless!

Okay, fine, it would make sense for me to ask a few things, maybe start with a 'thank you for saving my dumb ass' and go from there? Could I think up a natural sounding segue? Who am I kidding of course I could, I'd been bullshitting English papers for two lifetimes.

Sitting on my bed, back against the wall, knees curled up to my chest, I fiddled with the phone. Open, close, open, close, open, close, open. I pulled the flimsy antennae up, then shoved it back down, up, down, up – it didn't really help with reception, but it looked hilarious. Thumbnail in my mouth, polish chipping off under my teeth, I rubbed at the keys like they were a worry stone. Get your head in the fucking game, bitch.

I typed out my message, a measly two sentences, but was stuck before I hit send. Did I even want to do this? Did I want to dig? Well, fuck, yes I did, but did I want to deal with the consequences of digging? I hated consequences! They were horrible, filthy things that made me deal with my responsibilities. Fuck it, fuck it! I jammed down the button and watched, part horrified, part giddy, as the stupid sending animatic played for three seconds before the word SENT flashed in Arial on the screen.

 _Thanks for saving my ass._ _Just one thing, how did you get to me so fast?_

Your move, Cullens.

* * *

"It was... odd," Carlisle said, brow furrowed as he sat back at the desk in his office. Dark, stained wood atop which lay his meticulously organized supplies and small light, more for appearances than actual need. Though, it wasn't as though a human would wander into their home and go about wondering why they had no lamps. He sighed, "She was fine, her pulse was even – maybe too even, for someone who was just in an accident – right until I was standing in front of her. Then, almost spontaneously, her heart fluttered and sped up, like a rabbit's."

Esme couldn't help the teasing smile that twisted her lips, "Maybe she thought you were handsome."

Carlisle didn't take the bait, hardly seemed to notice any was laid out, "No, there was this anxiety in the air, I could smell it."

"Nervous about being near someone so handsome?"

He fixed her with a tired look.

"She could just have a problem with doctors, Carlisle."

"Then why didn't the paramedics phase her, the nurses?" He asked.

"They're not doctors," Esme said, still smiling, "You and I both know how specific human fears can be."

She hadn't seen her friend this perplexed in decades, not since Alice had approached their family – Jasper in tow – and claimed to know the future. He was usually so calm, so unruffled, that Esme couldn't help but find his consternation endearing. Her unflappable Carlisle, finally flapped.

She knew they were toeing a dangerous line, Alice especially, toying with this one human girl, but never before had a mystery stumped the entire family. They would usually be on the move before it got so far along, but without Edward's insight they were all working blindly and, as irresponsible as it was, everyone was intrigued.

Carlisle stood, "If Alice heard correctly, if Miss Swan truly was muttering about blood and black eyes, we can't risk it, we'll have to move on."

 _If_ Alice heard correctly, Esme barely refrained from shaking her head. Of course Alice heard correctly, vampire hearing was impeccable. "Alice was certain she posed no threat, that no one in the town would find out. You've trusted her implicitly before, what's changed?"

He ran a hand over his face, "She said herself her visions concerning the girl have been cloudy, who's to say the pivotal moment hasn't been obscured? Without Edward's ability we can't know for sure whether Miss Swan's anxiety around us has deeper roots, we have to be more careful."

"We have to trust Alice," she implored lightly, moving over and threading her fingers with Carlisle's, "How strange would it look if the whole family left right after that crash? People might begin to look for something to explain it, even if they were content before."

He sighed again, "You do make a good point."

Esme chuckled, "Thank you."

Carlisle took that moment to raise their clasped hands to his mouth and press a soft kiss against her knuckles, his lips smooth against her cool skin.

It was comfortable, their easy intimacy. While they may not have been mates like Rosalie and Emmett, they did find solace in one another, in the companionable silence that came with knowing someone for nearly one hundred years. It was just easier to get married and adopt the rest of their coven than try to explain to the small towns they lived in why two adults would be living together without being _together_.

"Does she really smell like nothing at all?" Esme asked suddenly, leaning her head on her best friend's shoulder.

Carlisle huffed a laugh, "Not nothing, no, but not blood, either. A muted dust smell, if you must know, balsa wood and petrichor, so faint, like she's been wrapped in a dozen sheets and stored away for a while."

"A disturbing way to put it, don't you think?"

That startled a true laugh out of him. His shoulders shook with it, and the resulting smile lingered long after the sound had dissipated. A lock of pale hair fell in front of his golden eyes when he looked down, turned his head, met Esme's smile with one of his own. "Perhaps," he allowed.

She ducked out of his embrace and walked towards the door – even with the soundproofing they'd installed, she could hear someone walking around upstairs and, from their gait, it seemed to be Alice. One hand on the doorknob, Esme looked back over her shoulder and said, "I'm the only one who hasn't met her yet; I'm beginning to feel a little left out."

"She's... interesting, I suppose," Carlisle admitted before settling back into his chair, "Very sarcastic, witty, she hides a lot behind that facade; you can see something frightened in her eyes."

With a light nod Esme opened the door and stepped out into the hall, careful to pull on the handle so the door latched behind her. Carlisle, though he seldom showed it and admitted it even less, had a penchant for a dramatic turn-of-phrase every now and again. She considered, for a moment, what this Loretta Swan would be like in person. Her father, the police chief, was a kind man, if quiet, but she could see where sarcasm could run in the family.

Alice was standing at the top of the stairs, leaning over the banister with her phone in her hand, a grin across her face. With the 'click' of the office door she glanced over to Esme and said, "Were you and Carlisle going to hunt tomorrow night?"

"I was thinking about it, I haven't asked him," Esme said, though her amber eyes glittered with barely restrained amusement – Alice thought she was so subtle, but her machinations were often easy to spot, "Why?"

Her mouth pulled to the side, "No reason. You think you could go on Saturday, instead?"

Esme raised one perfect brow.

"It's only two more days," Alice pleaded, "Something... good, yes, something good is coming, and it'll help everything along if you just wait a little."

"Alright, dear," she didn't bother to point out the fact they could've gone hunting a second time if it was that urgent, but no, the smallest of their coven was clearly plotting. Esme trusted her judgment, so this 'something' would definitely be worth it.

Alice squealed with delight, her grip tightening on her phone until an ominous 'crack' filled the air. Oh, Alice. After checking and seeing the case was only bent a little, the petite vampire hopped in place and hurried back off to her room, calling out a "Thanks!" on her way.

Esme shook her head fondly and wondered, as she often did, what revelation Alice was privy to that made her so giddy.

* * *

I spent an extra twenty minutes in the shower that morning deep conditioning my hair. I'd woken up earlier to accommodate it, it was in my plan, and I was just stepping out of the shower when I heard Charlie-Dad's alarm break through the early morning din. It was ear splitting, even with two doors and a hallway to muffle it. Towel wrapped around my torso and another around my hair, I walked gingerly back to my room, mindful of the water still dripping off of me.

The only special consideration I made for my outfit that day was a pair of thermal socks and my worn out set of Doc Martens – they were the closest thing I had to combat boots and I wanted feel prepared. Of course, no shoes would actually prepare me for a showdown with Alice Cullen, but it was all about the mindset!

I picked my phone up off the bedside table and scrolled through the conversation again, chipped thumbnail caught between my teeth.

 _I wasn't that far away,_ _but_ _adrenaline, I guess?_ Alice replied, but I hadn't left it, I couldn't.

 _You're really strong, too, I mean, you pushed me really hard._

There was a space of eight minutes between that and her next message, _Well I was scared! I didn't want you to get hit!_ She'd been making sense, the adrenaline excuse was pretty good, but this was my in, my entrance into vampire-land, and if I let this slip by who knew how often Eddie would sneak into my house.

I didn't know how to express any of that without, you know, expressing anything I shouldn't know, so I sent a _:S_ instead of a wordy response.

Amazingly, that got her to play ball, to play right into my hand. _Meet me outside the cafeteria at lunch tomorrow, okay? We can talk about it._ Play right into my hand, right. She could see the future, she saw eighty steps ahead, this was probably a Cullen plot.

I was going to meet her anyways, get my motormouth running about seeing Eddie in my room and, hopefully, not get dragged behind a dumpster and shot... bitten... ripped to pieces, whatever.

I tied my hair into two braids and tugged a red knit hat on over them, grabbed my backpack, slipped my phone into my back pocket, and trudged down to the kitchen. I grabbed an orange out of the bowl on the table and sat down, digging my nails into the peel to strip my fruit. I would have gone out to sit in my truck, except for the fact Gregory James ran into my truck and left a hug dent in the driver's side, completely crushing my left headlight and bending my fender. I wasn't as mad as I would've been if he hadn't gotten so fucked up, if his Toyota hadn't – apparently – been totally wrecked, but I was still pretty peeved. Why couldn't Alice have just stopped the car with her hands like Eddie-boy did for Bella? Then, at least, my truck wouldn't be at the mechanics and I wouldn't have to bother Charlie-Dad for a ride.

Speaking of Charlie-Dad, he came round the corner into the kitchen, then, and grabbed a green apple out of the fruit bowl. He wiped it off on his uniform shirt but didn't take a bite, "Are you sure you're feeling up to going to school today?"

I nodded, "My head hardly hurts anymore, Dad, I'm fine, I promise."

"If you insist," he sighed, "Well, come on then, don't want to be late."

"You aren't even going to eat that apple?"

He gave me a look, deadpan, and bit into it.

"Good," I preened, and headed for the door, "Can't have you collapsing from hunger on the job."

I could almost hear his eyes rolling.

* * *

Alice stood, half obscured, behind the cafeteria building. She was rocking slowly on her heels, eyes darting over the faces of the students piling in through the doors, searching for Loretta Swan. Edward, on the other hand, was fully obscured, leaning against the rough brick and wondering for the third time if he even wanted to be there. His sister's mind was running a mile a minute, visions abnormally absent, as she focused so heavily on the impending confrontation. Well, Edward thought of it as a confrontation, Alice seemed to view it as a casual meeting.

He kept hearing snippets of thoughts, students wondering what Alice Cullen was doing loitering outside instead of sitting at her usual table with her siblings, and he parted his lips to whisper, "You're drawing attention."

 _Not too much,_ she thought in response, and he caught her smile out of the corner of his eye.

Edward frowned, "Any attention is too much, you know that."

She wasn't paying him any mind, oh no, she'd spotted the Swan girl weaving nervously along the path. _Look, she's right over there,_ Alice beamed and waved the human over.

Edward watched through his sister's mind as Loretta, paler than she had been in days passed, made her way over to where they were standing. Alice guided her around the corner, out of sight of the few remaining students trailing outside, and parked the girl in front of Edward.

Loretta froze. It was moments like this, small moments of confusion or fear, where he was the most frustrated that his power didn't work on her. Even when she slept! Even when she slept she was immune, and it destroyed his whole system.

 _You're scaring her,_ Alice chided.

His frown just deepened. Loretta was looking everywhere but into his eyes and it put him on edge, this girl was always just a bit too nervous, a bit too wary; after watching her and interacting with her for weeks he still hadn't been able to put his finger on it, but her slight fear was more pronounced than the instinctual response they got from most humans.

"Well, um, A-Alice," Loretta stuttered, "Thank you, thank you for pushing me out of the way, for saving my life."

His sister smiled, "I couldn't just sit back and do nothing – you're my friend!"

The human looked a little surprised at that admission, taking a moment to blink owlishly at the two vampires before stumbling over her words a second time, "We, uh, we're friends?"

"Of course, Lora!"

Edward, though he had no need to breathe, had to repress a sigh. If only Alice could control herself, could leave well enough alone.

"You, you said it was adrenaline, but I mean, you moved really fast," Loretta said, one hand fisted in the bottom of her sweatshirt, the other curled around the strap of her backpack, "You were, like, six whole cars away, yet you got there in a second."

 _I have a decision to make, Edward, and for once I don't know what the right one is._

He almost lost it, grabbed Alice's arm and shook sense into her, but he didn't. What did she mean she had a decision? It was no decision at all! She had to deny it and make an excuse and convince the human to stop thinking about anything it. No, Alice couldn't be thinking of telling the truth? No, that would be ridiculous!

 _You know what I Saw, you saw it too, she's going to be told eventually,_ his sister thought, but she said, "It probably just seemed like that because of the shock, I wasn't that fast, honest."

Indecision plagued his dead heart. Would he really stand in the way of his coven-mate's happiness? No, it was the possibility of happiness, the possibility of happiness verses the entire family's safety.

It looked like Loretta was going to argue, she gaped for a moment, fish-like, but shut her mouth and nodded in acquiescence instead. Good, good, their natural intimidation was good for something, good for keeping nosy humans quiet and out of the way.

Alice put a hand on her arm, lightly, "Let's go in for lunch, okay?"

Except Loretta pulled away. He watched, attention drawn in a snap, as the girl appeared to steel herself – she squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. What was all this? What kind of important declaration could she possibly have to make? Another question to be shot down? He barely kept his eyes from rolling. No matter how puzzling, it seemed humans were as predictable as ever.

What came next wasn't something he predicted, however. Looking at the milky haze in Alice's mind, the space where her visions were meant to be, the space that clouded over whenever she focused on Loretta Swan, Edward could see his sister hadn't predicted it either.

The human stared him down, meeting his gaze for the first time, and said, "Please stay out of my room."

"I was never in your room," the response was automatic, delivered with all the fluidity of a professional actor. It was habit to deny, deny everything, deny anything with a vehemence that would convince even the most suspicious of people.

Loretta's brow furrowed and splotchy red rose in her cheeks – it was still so odd, to see such an obvious pooling of blood and feel nothing towards it, "Yes you were. The night before the crash, I woke up and you were there, you were in my room."

He shot Alice a look, as if he were saying 'what is this girl's problem?', but mentally he was reeling. He'd been quick, he knew it, too quick for her to be sure of what she saw. She should have dismissed it as a figment of her imagination, as a dream, that's what humans always did.

Edward was about to rebuke her again, but she cut him off.

"The tabs on my bathroom window were broken," she bit out, and he noticed then that she was shaking, "They were fine before, they weren't broken and then they were. I know you were there! But my dad's the Chief of Police, I know you know that. I'll tell him you were breaking and entering if you do it again, I swear; stay out of my house, okay?"

He wanted to stop her from walking away, pull her back, maybe snap her neck to keep her quiet and hide her body and flee, flee with his family out of the state, out of the country, somewhere he hadn't made a colossal mistake. His hand was already reaching out for her turned back when he caught onto Alice's thoughts again.

 _Don't you dare!_ She screamed it in her head and grabbed his wrist in a crushing hold.

Edward fixed her with a look, a warning, a plea, but she wouldn't budge.

 _You saw it! You saw it with me; you know you can't. Just wait, Edward, it won't be long._

"I thought you couldn't See her," he growled. Loretta Swan had disappeared around the corner and was long gone, probably into the cafeteria, surrounded by witnesses.

 _I'm getting flashes, other people's choices can affect her,_ Alice explained, _Trust me._

God help his damned soul, he did.

* * *

 **AN: What Alice Saw to make her ask about hunting, even though she can't See Loretta clearly, will be made clear next chapter, as will why Alice bothered to ask even though she can't be 100% sure. I try not to add in explanations in the AN cause I want to try and explain everything int he narrative, but I had a feeling some people would wonder about that. Anyway! I hope you like this chapter, I hope I did a good job with the Esme and Edward POV, and that it didn't feel too out of character. If it did, please tell me! I'd love to hear your critiques.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has followed and favourited this story so far, and a big special thanks to _VongolaCielo27, silentmayhem, lostmyhcad, sousie, NightHunterDeath, NuncaNiem, marlastiano, May(guest), BookishBeast, MozzarellaMermaid_ , and _orchidluv_ for their kind and helpful reviews!**


	12. Chapter 12

The hair on the back of my neck was still standing straight up, had been since I'd turned dramatically away from Edward and Alice Cullen and pushed into the cafeteria building. I had goosebumps, goose-flesh, goose-pimples, goose-skin, whatever the fuck, I had it, all over my arms and down my back and creeping over my shoulders.

I had it when I walked in and I had it when Jessica waved me over and I had it as Lauren slid her chocolate milk over to me. My stomach was churning, I felt nauseated, there was that awkward wet feeling at the back of my throat, you know, the one you get when you're about to throw up.

So, all in all, I think that meeting went pretty well. I survived, kept my cool, didn't blurt out anything right away about vampires; I was riding high!

Wait minute, why did Lauren give me her chocolate milk?

"Lauren," I asked slowly, "Why did you give me your chocolate milk?"

Everyone as the table laughed a bit, probably because I'd taken a sip before even asking, but Lauren just rolled her eyes and said, "I bought it for you. We all know you like it and, after yesterday, I kinda wanted to give you something."

I stared at her, "Why?"

"Because you almost died and I felt bad?" She explained, then stuck out her tongue, "Don't you do nice things for injured people?"

"I guess, but I'm not really injured."

"The bandage on your head says otherwise," Jessica added.

I scoffed, "I don't even have the bandage on anymore!"

Lauren jumped back in, "We all know you're being held together by stitches or staples or something."

"It's just a little glue," I muttered, but she continued on over me.

"Would you rather I take it back, cause I can."

I pulled the small carton close to my chest, "Nope! No, we're good!"

Again, the table laughed. Honestly, I know I'm hilarious, but laughter wasn't always the best medicine – especially for goosebumps, apparently. They were fading, but I had to fight to keep from turning around and checking for the Cullens; their table was almost directly behind me, I couldn't see them, I couldn't see if they were coming for me, and I was on edge. I was always on edge, fuck, I was getting tired of this goddamn edge.

"Anyway," Lauren flipped her long hair over her shoulder, "I hear George Hooper's parents are going to be out of town this weekend, people are sayin' he's gonna have a party Saturday night; do we want to go?"

One of the boys at the table, Dylan something-or-other, shot a pointed look at me and jerked his head, eyes fixed on Lauren.

She scoffed, "What, you think she's gonna go telling her dad?"

"Yeah," he said emphatically, like Lauren was an idiot for not being careful enough.

I was glad Angie was, well, wherever she was and not sitting with us, because I wasn't sure how a pastor's daughter would feel about a teenage rager. I, however, hadn't been to a party since the end of sophomore year and was basically chomping at the bit for a chance to get my mind off everything. Screw Dylan what'shisface, I wasn't a narc.

Jessica was giving me a similar look, wary and a little disbelieving – like somehow being a cop's kid meant I wasn't up for some trouble. I rolled my eyes, "Is this a sure thing?"

Dylan clammed up, but Lauren whipped out her phone and tapped away. I heard a very faint _ding_ off in the middle of the cafeteria and turned towards the sound, where I saw George Hooper looking down at his lap before darting his head up to look around. He looked right at Lauren and gave her a thumbs up. Well, that was efficient.

Lauren's phone buzzed and she flipped it open again, "Yep, he just sent me his address. Want me to send it to you?"

"Please."

"Oh come on!" Dylan groaned, "Etta, like, you're cool and all, but your dad's the fucking Chief of police okay? This is just asking for trouble!"

"You look like you have a guy."

He spluttered, "Wait, what?"

"Y'know, a guy, someone who gets you shit you're not supposed to get," I needled, and Jessica, Lauren, Mike, and Caitlyn all watched intently, "Am I right? Do you have a stuff guy?"

The scruffy boy looked nervous enough that I could guess his answer.

"Awesome," I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, ignoring how Jessica's eyes widened as I counted out two twenties and shoved the rest back into my pants. I held forty bucks out to Dylan, "Here, get me some vodka, get yourself something, pay your guy, and I'll meet you at the party, deal?"

"Should you really do this in the middle of school?" Caitlyn whispered.

Probably not, but I was tired. I'd hardly spoken to this kid but I knew he smoked weed out behind the track during his spare, and despite what I said about being a narc I would turn on him in a second if he ratted me out. I would straight-up lie my ass off and pin it all on him, no regrets. He wasn't stupid, he could probably see it in me.

I waved the money in his face gently and crooned, "I'll buy mixers."

He scowled, but took the money with surprisingly light fingers, muttering, "I'll meet you by the shed in the backyard, okay?"

"Perfect," I grinned.

* * *

Saturday started like any other day. Well, like any other day that wasn't a weekday. I woke up at ten thirty and meandered down to the kitchen to make myself some toast. Taking a moment to spread peanut butter on one slice and raspberry jam on the other, I eyed where Charlie-Dad was sitting at the kitchen table.

He had a folder spread open in front of him, mug of coffee half drank, bowl of cereal half eaten, and his hand was rubbing at his chin in a vaguely contemplative manner. I figured he was busy, or at least engrossed in what he was reading, but I also figured I needed to ask him about this party I wanted to go to.

Renee-Mom was, well, I wouldn't say she was negligent or naive, but open and trusting and lenient probably weren't too far off the mark. Case in point, I'd never really worried if Renee would say 'no' to a party. Hell, Phil had given me a fifth of vodka and waved to me from the front porch as I climbed into Holly's beat-up Buick.

Speaking of Holly, I should probably send her an email – she was the only one who bothered to call in the month-and-a-bit I'd been gone and I hadn't even been awake to answer. You'd think, with her being two years older, it would've been her sister who kept in contact, but apparently not.

No, no, stay focused.

I took my toast with me to the table and slid into the seat across from my dad. Taking a bite from the peanut butter slice and munching quietly, I tilted my head to read the papers he was flipping through. I caught the seal of the Forks police department and the date in the top right before he tilted the papers up so I couldn't see. He flipped through the last few pages, ignoring my pout, before stacking them all up and closing the folder around them, making sure to pull it closer to his end of the table.

"What's that?" I asked.

Charlie-Dad sighed, "A missing persons report from Port Angeles, some paperwork from the station, stuff like that."

"Ah," I nodded, "Who's missing?"

"You know I can't talk about it, Etta," he said, eyeing me over his mug of coffee.

"Fine, what kinda paperwork is it, then?"

"Vacation requests, one inter-departmental memo – fairly standard stuff."

I nodded again and began to demolish my second piece of toast. About to ask about the party, a twinge in the back of my head made me pause. A head injury, I was recovering from a head injury. There's no way Dad would let me go to a party, let me go to a _drinking_ party, after that accident. Hmm. Maybe I shouldn't go? I mean, alcohol plus brain trauma can't equal good things... fuck it. I sank forty bucks into this, I was going! I licked some jam from my fingers and pondered my predicament, ignoring the responsible side of my brain and wracking the other, more cunning side for some cover story.

Oh, that would work.

"Hey dad," I said, "I'm gonna hang out at Caitlyn's house this evening, is that okay?"

He frowned, "Are you feeling up to it? Is your head feeling better?"

"Yeah, I feel fine, Dad," I said around my last mouthful, "and my head's fine, too."

A moment of silence, and then he asked, "Who's Caitlyn, again, have you mentioned her?"

"Caitlyn Ellewood," I offered, "and no I don't think I have. She sits at my lunch table – she's cool."

"Ah, she's 'cool', I see," Charlie-Dad gave me a sagely bob of his head, "Sure, I don't see why not. How are you gonna get there?"

"She'll come pick me up around six."

A small smile twitched under his moustache, "Okay, yeah, you have fun, but don't stay out too late."

"I won't," I said, and shot off a quick text to Cait under the table. Hopefully she could actually come get me, or else I'd be shit out of luck getting to this party what with my car in the shop and all. She was the only one I talked to who lived on my end of town and was also going to be there – no one else would want to drive out of their way to have me hitch a ride.

Charlie-Dad nodded to show he'd heard me before draining the last of the coffee from the mug and bringing his dishes to the sink, "Well, I'm going to be going in to the station in a little bit, do you need anything while I'm out?"

"Nah," I told him, and got up to place my plate alongside his, "I wanna head over to the Thriftway to get some stuff for myself, so I should be asking you that question. Want something?"

"You're going to walk?" He asked incredulously, "To the Thriftway? It's nearly a mile out."

I sighed, "It'll only take me, like, half-an-hour each way."

"Carrying grocery bags?"

"I'll take that fold up cart thing from my old paper route. It's still in the garage, right?"

Charlie-Dad's brows furrowed, "I think so."

"Great! So, want anything?"

He sighed, then, and said, "Some more coffee creamer, if you don't mind."

I scoffed, "Course I don't mind. After twelve odd years of feeding me, it's the least I can do."

"Etta, it's my job."

I stuck my tongue out at him, "That may be, but it doesn't hurt to show a little appreciation."

"Thanks, dear," he said and, before I could duck out of the way, he reached up and ruffled my hair. Ruffled! My! Hair! Violently, too. I could feel it sticking up all over the place.

"Dad!"

He just laughed as he went and picked up the folder from the kitchen table. Despite my pout, which I bet he could sense digging between his shoulder blades since I aimed it with deadly precision, he didn't turn around and give me the satisfaction of showing it to his face – he kept on walking down the hall.

"Fine!" I yelled up after him, "I'm going to the store now!"

* * *

I walked through the aisles of the Thriftway, one hand pushing the rickety metal cart, the other shoved in my pocket, as I slowly scanned the shelves for items that would make my purchases look less obvious. In the cart, atop a folded sheet of cardboard used to keep things from falling through the mesh, sat a two litre bottle of no-name brand diet cola, a carton of orange juice, and six-pack of soda water. I wasn't sure how obvious my plans would be from that, but buying only things that could be mixed with alcohol could set some alarm bells off, right?

Coming up on the snacks I threw in a bag of salt-n-vinegar potato chips, a box of fruity granola bars, and a pack of Hostess cupcakes. Okay, to be honest, that probably wasn't much better. I sighed. Whatever, it was a small town, I'd resigned myself to Charlie-Dad finding out and grounding me afterwards a few hours ago.

I missed being able to do whatever the fuck I wanted, I missed not having to answer to anybody; it'd been seventeen years, but the memories of adulthood never seemed to fade. Sure, the specifics were gone, but the emotions weren't. They were taunting me, that's what they were doing. I loved Charlie, hell, I loved Renee and Phil, but even when they were lenient they were stifling.

My butt vibrated in a familiar pattern, so I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and flipped it open to read the text.

 _Yea i can drive u,_ it was Caitlyn, _but dont txt anymore its xpensive._

Shit, right, sometimes I forgot. I mean, I paid my own phone bill, but I also had that money stashed away from convincing Phil to make a few bets last year and begging Renee to buy me stocks for my birthday when I was five.

Walking by the magazine racks I was amazed at how much of the front page headlines still felt like old news to me, that no matter how many of the important details got lost I could never really be shocked by the tabloids since I'd seen it all before. One glossy cover boasted inside details on the capture of the BTK killer and I let my fingers trail over the top of the pages, hmm-ing and haa-ing on whether I should throw it in my cart. On one hand, this capture wasn't news to me, hell, I'd been surprised he _hadn't_ been caught, shows you how straight my timelines were, but on the other hand it _was_ news, it was new, it was shocking and important.

I decided against it, in the end. If I started collecting serial killer memorabilia Charlie-Dad might get worried – if not for me then for the remaining residents of Forks. I turned, shoved impatiently when the wheel got stuck, and pushed my cart over to the one check-out lane with its light lit.

Struggling to get my stupid cart thing through the little walkway next to the belt and cursing under my breath, I didn't notice who the cashier was until we were face to face. It was George Hooper.

He started scanning my items, a knowing look on his face, "You coming tonight?"

"Yeah," I grinned, "If I can get a ride."

"Oh, right, your truck got hit pretty hard, didn't it?"

I nodded, "Mostly cosmetic stuff, actually, like a huge fucking dent in the door, but I still won't get it back 'til Tuesday."

"Sucks," he said, then punched a few buttons on his register and asked, "Do you have our rewards card?"

"Nope."

After putting my purchases into a couple paper bags and rattling off my total he held out his hand, then I gave him my bills, got my receipt, and dropped the bags into my goddamn cart.

"Save me some soda water, yeah? Host present?" George called out after me, and I laughed.

"Sure thing."

As I left the store, cart wheels getting caught in half melted slush and skidding around with the extra weight, I saw Edward's Volvo pull up in the parking lot. Out stepped... a Cullen I didn't recognize, and after a second of running through those I'd met I concluded this must be Esme. She was gorgeous, her hair a silky caramel colour, her eyes narrow and her lips full, walking gracefully as if she were floating along on air. She caught me staring and smiled, a little greeting that felt momentous just because it was so kind, so open. I barely managed a grimace before she disappeared through the sliding doors into the store.

Well, there you have it, I'd officially met all of the Cullen clan. Why did I feel so disappointed?

* * *

When Caitlyn and I rolled up to George Hooper's house at eight o'clock, the party was already in full swing. I couldn't feel the bass echoing up into my bones but it was a near thing, what with the volume he had going on his speakers. Cait parked her Chevrolet next to a beat-up, silver Volkswagen in the Hoopers' big-ass driveway and hopped out; after grabbing my bag from the foot-well, I followed.

The Hoopers lived in a three storey custom house that was set fifty feet up from the dirt road that curled past it. They were well-off, is what I'm saying, with a good acre of lawn blending into the forest around the edges of the lot. Everything smelled like earth and rain and chlorine – I guess they had a pool, too.

Cait waved me up after her as she climbed the cobblestone path to the house. By complete chance – and I was guessing, just based on the hazed look in his eyes – George himself answered the door when we rang the bell.

"Hey, hey hey! Welcome," he drawled, spreading his arms out to his sides and waving us in, "Mi casa, su casa, yada yada, just don't break anything and stay out of the fridge."

Cait and I laughed, and I pulled a can of soda water from my bag and handed it to him. "Here," I said, "Host present."

"Alriiiight," it was drawn out – he was definitely high.

There weren't that many people, at least, not in the front hall and first floor, maybe twenty? Though as we walked through the house I caught side of the glass doors leading out into the backyard and, yeah, more than twenty. More than thirty, definitely.

A faint fog of smoke, a mixture of cigarette and joint, settled over the crowd – I wondered how the hell he was going to explain the stench to his parents. Hell, maybe his parents didn't care. I knew a few kids like that back in Arizona, ones whose parents didn't give a fuck – like Renee, just more extreme.

I followed Cait into the kitchen where, on the counter, a selection of snacks and drinks and a stack of red solo cups were set out. Crumbs, stray potato chips, and a small puddle of beer decorated the rest of the space, and I found myself peering around for a paper towel. I didn't see one in plain sight so gave up on cleaning the mess, however a couple people milling about the table _did_ see me and my heavy tote bag and perk up at the prospect of new snacks.

"You guys get these granola bars," I said as I pulled the box from the depths of the bag and plunked it down in the centre of the counter.

They all pouted – I might've felt sympathy for them if I could do more than vaguely recall their names.

I hiked the handles of the bag up over my shoulder and turned to Cait, "Hey, when do you wa-"

She wasn't there. I'd turned away for five seconds to give some drunk people granola bars and she disappeared. Fantastic. I peered around, again, this time for the blonde, headband-adorned head of my sort-of friend. Nothing, she wasn't in the living room, she wasn't in the hall, she wasn't on the stairs. I blew a raspberry. The party wasn't _that_ big, I'd probably find her again.

Stepping over another suspicious spill, I slid the back door open and stepped out onto the deck. There was a plastic table off to the side with more solo cups on it, and a set of speakers hooked up to an iPod were perched on the railing that encircled half of the deck. Eminem was assaulting my ears as it blared up into the evening sky and for some reason I was starkly reminded of that Rihanna song, fuck, what was it called, the video had Hannibal Lecter in it? Fuck, whatever, I'd rather be listening to Rihanna than Eminem anyway, was my point.

I spotted the shed where I was meant to meet Dylan off in the distance, through a swath of inebriated teenagers standing and sitting on both the deck and the damp grass of the backyard. I weaved between them, waving and calling out enthusiastic hellos to everyone who noticed me, before making it to the shed. It was okay, I guess, painted a dark-ish colour I couldn't really distinguish in the low light, but I was more interested in the slouching figure leaning against the side of it.

He was eyeing me skeptically, like he hadn't been sure I'd even show up, with a blunt held between his thumb and forefinger. At his feet sat a paper bag which I assumed held my shit.

I stopped maybe half a foot in front of him and started rooting around in my goodie bag, "So, I have soda water, orange juice, and cola – any preference? I'm gonna be putting them out up there, so if you want something specific you should grab it now."

He puffed on the blunt and blew the smoke off to the side, "Nah, it doesn't matter to me... You know, I didn't think you'd actually come."

"What, my forty bucks wasn't convincing?"

"I dunno," he shrugged, "You just don't seem the type."

I rolled my eyes, "Just cos my dad's a cop doesn't mean I can't enjoy the finer things in life, Dylan."

That got a laugh out of him. "Okay, okay, here," he reached pulled out a pint of vodka from the paper bag and held it out along with a five and two ones, "There was change."

I tucked the glass bottle under my arm and shoved the money in my pocket, then asked, "What'd you get?"  
"Beer."

I nodded, "Say I wanted to buy that joint from you..."

He handed it over, "No charge. You bought my booze, it's a fair trade."

"Nice," I punched the air, snatched it from him, and took a long drag, "Thanks."

We parted ways after that. Well, I say parted ways, but he continued to lurk over by the shed and I went back up to the deck. The minute I started unloading the rest of my haul onto the plastic table a little crowd of two or three people formed around me.

Someone, I think it was Tabby from English, asked, "Is that for everyone?"

"Yep!"

A couple of the drunker kids cheered and I laughed, careful to keep my newly acquired blunt steady in my teeth. I was jostled a little as the other vied for some stuff, but I grabbed the cola first and filled an empty cup halfway before extracting myself from the hoard.

It was a crisp night and the further I got away from the deck the more peaceful I felt. A lot of the snow and ice had melted into slush, but there were a few patches of the white stuff clumped around the trunks of the trees on the edge of the property. I set my empty cloth bag over one such icy spot and sat with my back to a very naked tree.

Before I would've mingled, talked to some of the others I knew, but that was Before. Now I just felt too... old. I felt much too old to be going to teen parties and hanging out with teens and doing teen things, but at the same time I craved it. It was this weird median where I was, simultaneously, thirty-something and seventeen. Was it hormones? Was it the age of this body? Whatever it was, it made me feel out of sorts and, well, like a faker.

I took another drag, a deep one, let the smoke sit in my lungs for a good long while before I exhaled through my nose. One thing that hadn't changed, from Before to Now, was my tolerance for drugs and alcohol; it was absurdly high, as ever. Even when I got the blunt down to a smoking nib I only felt mildly warm. I snuffed it out in the grass. Then I unscrewed the cap on my vodka – raspberry flavour, Dylan had good taste – and filled up my solo cup the rest of the way.

God, I was tired. All this vampire shit was too hard, too much thinking. I took a couple quick glups and relished the burn as the drink slid down my throat. I was getting there, step by step, moment by moment, but I kept holding myself back. I kept being _scared,_ and I shouldn't be, I had already died! What else was there to be scared of? It was stupid, all this anxiety, but I couldn't help it.

Around eleven, the kids who were still around were swaying a little. I had gone and refilled my cup thrice over, once even with orange juice, and had drained half the bottle I had stuffed back into the bag. My vision was hazing around the edges a bit and I felt floaty, but my mind was still clear – which was a fucking shame.

I'd moved from my position under the tree on the outskirts to a deck chair near the table and was munching on a Hostess cake. That's where Cait found me, well, that's where the person dragging Cait around found me. It was, uh, fuck I couldn't remember her name at the moment.

"Hey, I know yeh came with Caitlyn but, she- sheeee's in no shtay- shtate to drive," girl-whose-name-I-couldn't-recall slurred, "George ish- is lettin a few of us stay the night, sh- so, uh, yeah... are you good to get away- a way home?"

I nodded, and ignored how my brain seemed to lag behind the movement of my head, "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Are you guys sure you're good here?"

Whatsherface grinned and said, "Oh yeah! We're find!"

I raised a brow, "You're find, huh?"

"Perfectly!"

We shared a few more pleasantries and then mystery girl led Cait back into the house. I just slumped back into the chair. I didn't, actually, have a way to get home, but I'd also figured something like this could happen so I wasn't too bothered that I'd have to walk.

When I said the Hooper's were on the other side of town, I was obfuscating a little bit. In reality they were on the other end of a long curve, so if I lived at the top, they lived at the bottom. Both were on the edge of town and a straight(ish) line between them did exist, except it was a section of hiking trail through the woods. I wasn't sure if the path was common knowledge or not, but I remembered exploring once as a little kid and ending up in their backyard.

I stood up and looked at my half empty bottle of vodka for a moment, then took a swig. It was foul, it burned, but I wanted one last drink before I started my trek. Honestly, I considered leaving the bottle on the Hooper's deck, but I figured it wouldn't be too hard to hide from Charlie-Dad since he wasn't a very nosy parent to begin with. Although, if I wasn't home soon he'd probably get worried.

Damn. I puled out my phone and it was already eleven thirty. He said 'not too late'; I was surprised he hadn't called me yet. I opened the back door and saw the party still in full swing inside, then spotted George himself. I flagged him down and thanked him for the invite and the hosting and the everything, yeah, and he chuckled.

"No problem," he said, "Thanks for bringing that stuff, that was cool of you."

"Psh, no problem."

He frowned a bit, then, "Are you sure you're okay getting home?"

"I'll be fine George."

"I don't know, I mean, all that shit going on in Port Angeles, I hear they found a-"

I cut him off, "And Port Angeles is sixty miles away, George. I might've been gone for a few years, but I still know this town like the back of my hand – don't worry."

It wasn't until I was out of his house, around the side, over the frosty lawn to the mouth of the forest path half hidden by shrubs lit only by the full moon, that something occurred to me. _What_ shit going on in Port Angeles? George heard they found a _what_? Was it connected to the missing persons report Dad was looking at that morning? Found a... found a _body_ maybe? Why didn't I let him finish? Right, right, drunk. Okay, shit, logic dictates it would be those goddamn nomad vampires, right? But... would that really be the same? Would they really do all the same shit they did in Meyer-land in this real world and eventually come barrelling through town?

How the _fuck_ had I not thought of this earlier?

An owl hooted. I stumbled a bit on a few twigs in the middle of the path and realized, abruptly, that I was weaving back and forth as I walked. No, no, I was not going to regret this decision, it was a _good_ decision and I could make it back home just _fine_ on my own.

Of course, that's when my phone rang.

One glance at the number told me, surprise surprise, it was Dad. I fumbled with it, my bag slipping down into the crook of my elbow, I was half hunched over as I pressed the device to my ear. "Hello?" I called into the receiver, concentrating Very Hard on not sounding drunk off my ass.

"Loretta Jane," Oh no, the middle name, "Remember when I told you _not_ to stay out too late?"

I swallowed a mouthful of booze taste and moved off to the side of the path, "Yes, I'm sorry, Cait and I just lost track of time."

"Well I hope you're on your way home now," he said.

"I am, I am," I placated, mind rolling around trying to figure out what to say. The Ellewoods didn't live twenty-five minutes away, they were ten minutes out at most. "I'll be leaving in, uh, a couple minutes, I'll be home soon."

A crackly sigh came through the speaker, "Will Caitlyn be driving you?"

"No, no she's really tired, I'm just gonna walk," I said, then went on without giving him a moment to speak, "Don't worry, okay? It's not that far. I'll be there in no time."

There was a pause on his end, and I could almost hear the offer to pick me up forming on his lips. Oh no, no no no, we couldn't have that happening!

"Dad, Dad, trust me, please?"

Another sigh, "Fine, but we're going to have a talk about what constitutes 'too late' in the morning."

I nodded.

"Etta?"

Oh, fuck, right, "Yes! Of course, righty-o, see you at home, love you Dad bye!"

I ended the call and snapped the phone shut. God, great, just great, now I was going to have to run home. Run, like some sort of goddamn athlete. My stomach gave a little lurch and I quickly bent over to put both hands on my knees, letting my bag drop to the dirt. Ugh, no, maybe weed and alcohol weren't the best mix after a long stint of sobriety.

Saliva was filling my mouth, like I was about to hurl, but I choked it back down. It took a good moment of deep breathing before my stomach calmed down and I could right myself again. Brushing the dirt off the bottom of my bag I clutched it close to my chest and continued walking.

It was dark, it was really fucking dark. The moon shone brightly through the canopy over my head and illuminated the path faintly, but it was still dark. That owl hooted again, a couple times, and it echoed. I was starting to have a couple second thoughts, actually, since I knew I had to make a few turns and I wasn't sure how accurate I could be at night while wasted; I shook it off. I'd walked these trails a hundred times – maybe not the one straight to the Hooper's, the others, though, the others I knew like the back of my hand, just like I told George.

It was a _good_ decision to do this, a _great_ one!

My alcohol-slash-pot breath clouded around my face in white puffs. Hopefully the night air, chilly as it was, would blow the scent out of my clothes. Hopefully Dad would be asleep by the time I got home, or at least in bed, or at least not _right there_ ready to sniff me.

Coming up to the first fork in the path (ha, a fork, in Forks) I stopped. I was more than halfway there, I was sure, but I was a little stuck on whether it went left, left, home or right, left, home. I was positive the last turn was a left, but the first one? It depended on the direction and, as I said, I didn't come from the Hooper's that often.

Fuck. _Fuck._

No! This was a _great fucking idea._ I was _not_ going to get drunk-lost in my own goddamn backyard! I looked up, I looked down, I spun in a circle, I searched for a landmark and got caught on a tree root and stumbled a second time.

Then, of course, of fucking course, I heard the rustling. Different than the normal rustling, like tiny animals moving or wind gusting or trees creaking, no, this was _big_ rustling. This was even-paced, faint, off-in-the-distance rustling. _People_ rustling. At least, that's what my drunk mind was telling me, and my drunk mind wasn't so different from my sober mind except warmer and floaty-er and chill-er, so I was inclined to believe it.

"Oh fuck me," I muttered, though it came out a little choked.

I picked the left prong of the fork and skedaddled down in, whispering expletives under my breath the whole way. It wouldn't be much further until the spot where three paths met and converged and went off to the East, all I had to do was get there and move onto the left path and I'd be _peachy fucking keen._

Drunk-high me made _great fucking decisions._

Everything smelled like melting ice and dirt and that dormant plant smell, the moonlight was casting ominous shadows over the path, the trees were getting more imposing, the owl wasn't hooting. I couldn't hear the rustling anymore but that didn't make me feel any better. What if it was _vampire rustling_ and they were being extra quiet now in order to sneak up on me?

A shuddery sigh broke past my lips. No, I was just being drunk-high paranoid. That was normal, it was normal and I was fine and any minute now I'd see the path veer off into my backyard and I'd walk around to the front of the house and step in the door and everything would be fine.

Everything would be-

 _CRACK._

It was so loud, like a gunshot, like a bomb, reverberating through the still air right into my ears.

It was right beside me.

* * *

 **AN: Here we are! I've changed the rating, for now just because of all the alcohol and drug mentions, but who knows what could come in the future ;)**

 **Sorry it took so long, but the Holiday season really kicked my ass. Please tell me what you think! What do you think is in the forest with her? Did my explanation of the paths make sense? How about the party, did it feel suitably underwhelming? Thank you, as always, to everyone who reviewed and followed and favourited! It means a whole lot. (It's getting very long winded, I mean, my thanking everyone here by name, so I'm going to stop. However! I do respond to every person who reviews, so don't think I'm ignoring your kindness!)**

 **Thank you for reading! Next chapter will, hopefully, be out before the month is over.**


	13. Chapter 13

Despite what others may think, Emmett Cullen wasn't stupid. Yes, he was loud and brash and too aggressive on occasion, but he wasn't stupid. So when Alice told Esme and Carlisle to postpone their hunt, told them to wait until Saturday, his curiosity was piqued. When they'd all come home from school and Edward had laid out that the Swan girl had seen him in her house, well, first he'd spent fifteen minutes calming his mate down, but afterwards he felt he was on to something. Emmett knew Edward, he knew his brother would have panicked during that confrontation and gone for damage control – the only thing that could've stopped him was Alice, and she would've had to have a damn good reason for Edward to back off. It was a hunch, there wasn't enough evidence, but Emmett was sure it was all connected.

Alice was plotting, it was obvious in the way she'd sometimes pause and smile to herself, how her eyes would track movements they hadn't made yet, how she would come out and make little suggestions like the one to Esme and Carlisle. She was plotting and it had something to do with Loretta Swan. Which was why he invited himself and Rose along on the Saturday hunting trip, to see exactly what was so important about that particular night. Rose agreed with him, something was definitely up with that human girl, but she also thought the smartest move would be to, well, _move,_ move or kill her or a combination of the two. Getting to the bottom of whatever half-baked scheme Alice was concocting, she said, was just asking for trouble. Unfortunately for her, she was outvoted once again at the most recent family meeting.

So at nine thirty Saturday night four vampires darted out into the woods surrounding their home. Normally they would split off, by themselves or into pairs, but Emmett kept on Esme and Carlisle's tail for a good mile, knowing that whatever would happen would happen around them. It wasn't until they crossed the river that Esme turned on a dime and came to a stop in front of him that he figured they might not appreciate the company.

"Emmett, dear, why are you following us?" Esme asked.

He had his mouth open to speak when Rose cut him off. "He's convinced something's going to happen to you tonight, you and Carlisle, because Alice was going on about it earlier," she said, standing with her arms folded over her chest. She made it sound like the dumbest thing she'd ever heard.

"Oh honey," Esme laughed, "Something is bound to happen, but Alice would've warned us if it was something bad."

Rose gave him a look, something like a mix between 'I told you so' and 'can we go now?' that had him rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

"I know she said it would be good, but, uh..." he trailed off. How did he explain his hunch? How did he explain that he was curious and concerned at the same time?

"He's curious," Rose was deadpan.

Esme laughed a second time and Carlisle looked amused. "Emmett," he said, "We'll tell you if anything interesting happens, you have my word. Now, why don't you and Rosalie go off on your own, hmm? It'll be easier for us all to find something if we're spread over a large area."

Emmett sort of wanted to protest, but Carlisle and Esme weren't having it. He and Rose were left behind as the pair lept off again into the night, darting between trees until they were out of sight.

"Did you even need to hunt tonight?" Rose's voice cut through his thoughts, a thick undercurrent of amusement softening her words.

"Not exactly."

She laughed, and he was struck with just how beautiful she was, gaze her own unique shade of amber, her hair golden waves haloing her heart-shaped face, smile so wide the corners of her eyes crinkled. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, startling her into silence.

"What was that for?"

Emmett grinned, "Just because I love you."

She rolled her eyes but reached over to twine their hands together. "Come on, I caught the scent of a cougar a little ways back, and unlike you I actually planned to eat tonight."

"A cougar, huh?" He waggled his eyebrows.

A snort was surprised out of Rose and she retaliated, smacking his arm hard enough to unbalance him, "Shut up."

Grinning to each other, they ran off in the direction of the smell. No, Emmett wasn't stupid, perhaps easily distracted, perhaps easily mollified, but not stupid. He knew he'd get his answers eventually, but at the moment he was too busy chasing his wife to be too caught up on when that would be.

* * *

Esme's laughter was faint, even to his enhanced hearing, though it still echoed between the trees and off into the night as she bounded across the frosty ground. She had gone ahead after catching sight of a lone buck stepping over the felled logs and brush, eager to feed after nearly a week of going without and a trip into town earlier that day. Carlisle himself always had better control of his thirst, could go longer without succumbing to his nature, so it was easy for him to wait for another animal to cross his path.

It wasn't awkward, exactly, to run in his oxfords – nothing was ever _awkward_ for a vampire – but he knew he'd make for an odd sight. The shoes, the slacks, the dark dress shirt; all of it looked out of place in the middle of the woods. Usually he would go for a slight change of clothes, like Esme had with her running shoes and sweatpants, but he hadn't wanted to take the time. Truth be told, he was eager to get this hunt over with.

He trusted Alice, he did. Except, well, it was hard to tamp down all the skepticism when all he had to go on was 'something good would happen'. Something good, alright. Would it be good right away? Alice had the pervasive habit of focusing on the bigger picture, always looking ahead, never focusing on the smaller steps that had to be taken to get to the ending. He could admit it was a good attitude for a vampire, he often tried to keep his own sights on the end result of all things, but Alice all too easily forgot how much struggle could fit between the time she got her vision and the time it came to pass.

He ran, dodging trees and stepping between roots and small, half melted snow banks, carefully listening to the woods surrounding him. Esme was off to his left, deeper into the trees, the swift _snick_ of bones snapping let him know she'd caught her meal.

There was something else, though, reverberating through the dirt, loam, and ice. Bass, it was the uneven pounding of bass, rhythmic yet stilted, like hip hop or rap. The noise came from far enough away it wasn't noise anymore, even to vampire senses, just a thready hum he could feel through his shoes.

He investigated, of course, because he wasn't as thirsty as he could've been and it was only a mile or so away, and he looked out through the thinning foliage upon a house with a large yard. Carlisle was set far enough back that none of the few teenagers milling about on the back lawn could see him – a party? Someone was throwing a party at the end of February? What was the occasion? He considered making a call to the police station – he could smell marijuana, cigarettes, and alcohol, and not one of the kids he could see looked old enough for any of it – but decided it would cause more trouble than it was worth.

A small measure of guilt filled him at the thought, but say the officer who answered the phone recognized his voice, what excuse could he have for being so far from home in the middle of the night? Doctors didn't make house calls anymore. Still, he mulled it over for a long couple of seconds before turning to skirt around the property line and head off again to be engulfed in the overlapping reach of pine and maple.

Running across this party couldn't be the 'good thing', a bunch of intoxicated children couldn't be the 'good thing', if anything it just made things more complicated. He made sure to leave the party a good distance behind him, not wanting to run into any humans who might've wandered into the sparser areas. An owl hooted somewhere above him, the second time Carlisle had heard the bird that night, and it was then he heard a faint rustling ahead. He easily picked out two deer – a mother and fawn – picking gingerly through the dark, the moon barely shining on their backs.

Vampires, by design, moved swiftly and silently, so it was no trouble to pull up on the side of the pair and-

Before Carlisle could dart forth and sate his thirst, his ears caught something else; farther along, up near where he knew there to be a path, he heard... whispering. Mumbling? Muttering? It was quiet enough no human would've caught it, even if they were within a few feet, but Carlisle was no human. He took a deep breath, let the scents of night and wood, the moisture of melting ice swirling into petrichor, wash over him. A light odour of sweat, smoke, and drink clung to the air, drifting on faint winds over from the gathering, but nothing else. Nobody was there, at least not according to his nose. If a human were that close – much closer than any partygoer had been – he would not have been able to ignore it, would have noticed before he even saw the deer.

Those deer were shifting, now, they could sense something was wrong, could sense a predator in their midst even when he made no sound, and the mother began hurrying her fawn more quickly through the tangle of dead branches and snarled, wilting grass. The mumbling was moving away still and, curious, Carlisle covered fifty feet in an instant to get closer.

"Which way... path... oh, oh, which path, gonna die, drunk and high... fucking... dark... ow! Fucking.."

A girl's voice, a teenager's, wavered through the din. The words cut in and out, not because he wasn't hearing them but because she wasn't saying them; her sentences fragmented whispers that lilted, alcohol soaked, at the ends. How was that possible? How could he not-

Loretta Swan.

She smelled of petrichor and dust and old wood with not a drop of blood mixing in the perfume. It had to be her, she was the only human any of his family had encountered that didn't tempt them, there was no other explanation. He could've laughed. Of course he hadn't caught her, noticed her; she mixed in perfectly with the rest of the forest. He couldn't help the frown twitching at the corners of his mouth, though. Drinking after a head injury? Marijuana after a head injury? It wasn't any business of his, of course, if this girl was needlessly reckless, but part of him did wonder why she was making such unwise choices.

Wait a minute, wait just a minute, what was she even doing? Carlisle knew, just off-hand, that Charlie Swan lived in almost entirely the opposite direction. Oh, she was lost. She was hopelessly lost, in the woods, at night, alone.

He actually pinched the bridge of his nose. This couldn't be the 'good thing'. How was he supposed to leave Miss Swan to wander further and further into the wilderness? She had probably gotten all turned around and, thinking of that, well, she would most likely get turned around a number of times until she ended up down a cliff somewhere. Carlisle moved closer so the trees were no longer blocking his view of the path, so he could get a better gauge of the situation, but that was his mistake. He wasn't silent, wasn't steady, and he dragged his foot along the edge of an exposed rock.

The two deer, skittishness building over the last moments, bolted. They trampled long dead leaves and weeds and twigs, a burst of noise in the otherwise silent night, and while it might've startled the girl it would not have been a problem... except for the fawn, which stumbled down an incline and fell right into a dormant sapling, snapping it clean in two. The sound of that snap was like a gunshot, loud and startling and right next to where the human stood on the path.

Loretta Swan froze, then screamed.

The fawn scrabbled back up on its feet and tore off after its mother, both animals careening away from the human's piercing cry. Carlisle was only twenty-five feet away at that point, so sure the human wouldn't be able to see even that far, what with the dark colours he wore and the utter pervasiveness of the dark.

She clamped her hands over her ears, dropped to her knees, and screamed again. Her hair fell over her shoulders and veiled her face, her bag ground into the dirt at her side, and he could clearly see her trembling. She screamed a third and final time, her voice breaking off in the middle, transforming to a dry shriek, and then she was clutching her bag to her chest. Her head swung to the right, away from him, and then to the left; her eyes wide as dinner plates, pupils blown and drowning her irises.

He thought that would be that, she'd look around, see nothing but pitch, maybe start wandering again, maybe give up, but the important thing was she would move on and he could somehow alert someone to her presence there, get someone sent to come get her.

That's not what happened.

Loretta Swan jerked her head to the left, eyes gleaming saucers in her head, and she stared directly at him.

He hadn't been human for so long, so many hundreds of years, he forgot what their senses were like, how well they could, hear, smell, _see._ That was his second mistake. He was going to bolt, run away, just like his son Edward after his ill-advised field trip to this poor girl's room – he was less than a moment away from slipping like a wraith back into the shadows, much farther back, back home even – when Loretta Swan began to laugh.

No, not laugh, giggle – she was giggling hysterically.

* * *

I didn't know why I was surprised, really. No, of course they'd send the most pacifistic vampire to finish me off. Wasn't that the way? Whatever bullshit I'm not expecting, well, this world just throws it in my face. First with Edward being friendly, then Alice saving my life, and now this. The one Cullen who had never tasted human blood was here to kill me. Hell, that was probably why. He wouldn't be tempted to drain me, he didn't know what he was missing. I wonder what the plan was; would he tear me up, like a cougar got me? No, too much blood, even for him. Probably stage an accident, yeah, he'd probably grab me and toss me down a hill or a cliff somewhere. Fuck, maybe he'd just snap my neck and pose me near a snarl of roots, make it look like I tripped in the dark and broke my own spine less than a mile from home.

I bet he didn't think I'd see him, I bet he scared those deer by accident and, if he hadn't, I'd have been dead already. Oh yes, yes, that was it, I was wasting my last few seconds alive thinking about the logistics of my own death, but wasn't that par for the course. At least I saw it coming this time. Last time, well, it was blurry, but shock was pervasive throughout the memory so I knew I didn't get too long to prepare.

My knees were getting cold. I could feel the half frozen mud staining my jeans, reaching tendrils of ice into my cartilage. My heels were digging into my ass, my hands trembled where they clutched my bag to my chest and the vodka bottle pressed hard against my sternum. At least I'd die drunk and high – hopefully I wouldn't feel it, hopefully I was too buzzed. I stared him down, and it was hard to make him out. If it wasn't for one sharp sliver of moonlight cutting across his face I wouldn't even have known it was Carlisle. I would have died without knowing my killer.

Everything was shaking around me, the grasping tree branches, the winding path, the filtered moonlight, all of it jittered about like a phone on vibrate. When I gasped for air, a long, desperate sound, the movement stopped, and I realized everything was shaking because I was laughing. There it went, my composure, goodbye, it was nice knowing you. I could hear it, now, the laughter. High and thready and scary, my own giggles sent chills over my shoulders but I didn't stop, I couldn't, I wouldn't. I was going to laugh in the face of death, dammit, I was going to laugh at this stupid fucking vegetarian with my last breaths and pray it haunted him for eternity.

He was swaying a little, and I thought it was me, that I was listing to the side because of my giggles or my fear or my general drunkenness, but no, that wasn't it, no, he was walking towards me.

My mouth was moving, I didn't know what was coming out of it, but as my lips flapped I threw myself backwards, one hand digging into the cold dirt behind me. I dragged my ass along the path, scooting frantically away from the vampire, clawing my way one-handed since the other was still clenched tight in my bag. I paid good money for that fucking vodka, okay? I was either gonna finish it or die with it, I wasn't going to waste twenty bucks!

Good, good, my horrible flailing must have scared him, because he wasn't coming any closer. I kept scrabbling, though, until I could feel brush and twigs scrapping the seat of my pants, kept on going until I hit a tree with a _thunk._ The limbs creaked in the still night air, one brittle leaf ghosting down and landing near my feet, the clacking of dry wood the only noise. Other than my racing heart, obviously, that was a constant. Loud enough and strong enough I could feel it pulsing through my temples, my face getting warm from blood rushing beneath the skin, my breath coming in shaky wheezes.

Then I screamed again – with words this time, "FUCK!" He was _much_ closer now – of course, he waited 'til I was distracted, what a cunning plot.

Less than three feet away, for sure, and kneeling down, staring at me with those golden eyes, probably feeling prematurely guilty about my murder. "Miss Swan," he said, and his voice was still smooth and low and- not the time, bitch! "Are you alright?"

I drew my knees up to my chest and peered at him through my bag handles. "No," I barely breathed it out, but he was a vampire, he could hear me.

"Miss Swan?"

" _No_! No, _no no_ , no no. I am not _alright_! _Why_ would I be alright?" I screeched.

Carlisle frowned, then his forehead creased and he dared to fake concern for my state or my feelings or whatever he was feigning concern over. He adjusted his position – and for sure he noticed how I flinched – then said, "Miss Swan-"

"Stop _calling_ me that!" How fucking dare he? How dare he play polite when he was going to _end me_? He paused and took a breath, a breath he didn't fucking _need_ , before continuing on. Why was he not getting the hint? Why wouldn't he get it over with?

"Loretta, do you remember me? My name is Carlisle Cullen, I was-"

I cut him off again, "The hospital."

"Yes, good," he smiled tightly, "As you know, I'm a doctor, and I believe you may not be at your best right now. Have you had anything to drink? Taken any recreational drugs?"

I squinted at him. What was his game? Wasn't Carlisle the nice one, why was he fucking with me? Why did this matter? Was he just playing with his food? Oh god, what if drunk people tasted bad, what if Edward or Jasper told him that and he was curious about human blood and he really did want to eat me and I was an easy target? "Why's it matter?" My mouth felt slow around the words.

He inched closer, somehow not looking ridiculous even as he crouched down like that, "Because you're out here in the woods, alone, and you're acting erratic; I'm afraid you might hurt yourself."

"And why's _that_ matter?" I asked, "Wouldn't that just solve all your problems?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, Loretta." The thing was, he looked genuine. Goddamn vampire acting, goddamn secret, goddamn lying to my face 'til the very end.

"What it _meeeaaans_!" I yelled the last word, drew it out into one long syllable and shook my head, "It _means_ you're here to _kill me_ and you're doing a _really_! _Shitty_! _Job_!"

Carlisle rocked back on his heels and blinked a few times, "Loretta, I'm not here to hurt you, I want to help you."

"HA!" I barked out, then pointed my finger in his face, "As if! What? You think I'd be that gullible just 'cause I'm wasted!? Nuh uh! I know how you oper- operate, _Cullen._ "

"Loretta, you're not making any sense."

"And stop saying my name!" I spat, "Over and over and _over_ , I'm not an idiot! I know how psychology works! You think just 'cause you say my name I'll trust you more? Fat _fucking_ chance!" With that said, I stood up. I moved quickly, too quickly, and stumbled over against the tree my back had been resting against. I ran my free hand over the bark, relishing the bumps and grooves, I smushed my cheek against the trunk for a second before shaking the fuzz out of my ears and slid to the side. I took one step backwards down the path, then another, and then Carlisle was standing.

"Please, let me call you an ambulance. I'll walk you down to the road, alright? I won't come any closer, just let me help you."

"I DON'T NEED A VAMPIRE TO CALL ME AN AMBULANCE!" I screamed, "I don't _need_ an ambulance! I _needed_ to get very drunk and very high and forget that I'm tiptoeing around your _fucking ridiculous_ vegetarian family, okay? And now I _need_ to get home before Char- before Dad freaks the fuck out on me!" My hands shook as I pulled the vodka out of my bag and unscrewed the cap, and my fingers trembled so bad I dropped that cap and heard it roll off into the dark. I took one long swig and it burned, it burned and fought my gag reflex all the way down. Going to take another, my empty hand smacked me in the mouth. I stared at my fingers, then I looked up.

Carlisle was standing exactly where he was five seconds ago, except now he had my bottle in his hands – the cap was on.

"Are you gonna let me do that?" I goaded him, weaving back and forth in place, "Is my daddy ever gonna see me again? Or are you gonna use that vampy speed and snap my neck before I even notice? Huh? You came out here to kill me, I know you did, there's no other rea- reason you'd track me down! What, Alice told you I was gonna be drunk and you thought I'd be an easy target?"

Carlisle was immobile, like a statue, like a hunk of marble just sitting there, pale in the moonlight. His eyes were fixed on me, his face utterly void of expression other than where his lips were pressed together in a thin line.

I knew if I ran he'd catch me, he'd catch me almost instantly. Running would be stupid, would show him my back, make it easier for him to take me down, but my pulse was throbbing like a jackhammer in my neck and everything felt cold and hot and a little off-kilter. I knew running was stupid, but I did it anyway.

I whipped my bag towards Carlisle's head and tore off down the path without waiting to see him grab it from the air. I could feel the tread of my boots gripping the earth, flinging it up behind me as I sprinted along, my jacket was unzipped and flung out behind me like a cape, so the chill cut through my layers of plaid right to my marrow. I got to the next bend in the path, the one that would take me home, and I sped up. I was gonna make it, I was gonna make it! All I had to do was make it to the backyard and scream; all of my neighbours would hear, my dad would hear, someone would call reinforcements and Carlisle would have to skedaddle to escape persecution, or prosecution, something.

Except when I turned the corner, I only found more forest. There was no thinning of the trees, no soft glow from street lamps or house windows, nothing. I spun left, then right. Did I go the wrong way? No, impossible, I knew Forks like the back of my hand! I couldn't get lost, I couldn't! A soft whimper pulled past my lips, and I felt something behind me; I didn't dare turn around, I didn't dare face Carlisle Cullen.

My gut was churning, my mouth wet, I could feel a gag rising in my throat. Before I was able to swallow it back, before I fully recognized what was happening, I was bent over and emptying the contents of my stomach onto the middle of the path. The acidity caught in my teeth, on my tongue, stung up near my nose, but I wasn't able to stop the choked spluttering until I was left gasping, spitting the last remnants of bile from my mouth. I tried to wipe my face with my sleeve, to get the sick off my lips and chin, but I missed, my hand just fumbled around my chest before falling back down to my side.

I couldn't hear anything but my heartbeat, the _whoosh-glub_ of blood in my ears, as I staggered away from my pile of steaming vomit and collapsed. Really? Was this going to happen again? Was I gonna pass out _again_? The second time in a week?

I tasted the sour-sweet residue of barf, smelled it, felt my belly still roiling, raging against me, and I felt Carlisle Cullen standing behind me. I crawled forward, it felt like less than a foot, and my arms gave out to face-plant me into the dirt. Before darkness encroached, I heard a single, ominous footstep fall next to my head.

* * *

 **AN: The cat is FINALLY out of the bag, huh? Please tell me what you think, criticism is welcome! Thank you to everyone who has favourited and followed, and especially thank you to everyone who reviews - it means so much to know I have your support.**

 **ALSO, ATTENTION! I now have a tumblr where I post graphics and edits and updates for this story and other OC centric stories I love! The URL is lorettastwilight so punch that into your address bar with tumblr dot com tacked on the end to check it out! I'd love to hear any questions you might have. Do you have any specific face in mind for Etta? I know I've tentatively picked an FC but it'd be awesome to get other opinions. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and I hope everyone has a good February!**


	14. Chapter 14

Everything was... fuzzy. My head felt all at once too heavy and too light, like it was floating inches above the pillow while sinking miles beneath. I didn't feel drunk, no, not even tipsy, and the remaining high was muted and easy to push aside. The weird anti-gravity head feeling, that was closer to pain than anything else. Running over my skull, underneath the scalp, beating along with my heart, was an edging ache that radiated down into my molars; not a strong pain, nor a sharp one, probably not even pain, exactly, but that was the word I had for it. And- wait, wait, I couldn't be in a bed; I wasn't home.

No, no I wasn't home because I never got home, I never got into bed. How was I in a bed if I never went to bed? If I... never... got out of the... forest.

My heart shot out of my chest and I shot up soon after, clutching to my chest the softest sheets I'd ever felt. I was alive. I was alive! Carlisle didn't kill me! Oh god, oh sweet, sweet, merciful god. I wiggled my toes, just cause I could, and those sheets were soft from every direction, Jesus. I let my eyes adjust to the light that seeped in behind the heavy curtains, a yellow light that seemed more midday than morning and fell across the hardwood floor in a way that most closely resembled waves over a rocky shore.

The rest of the room was just as elegant as the windows. A plush throw rug at the side of the bed, a cherry nightstand with a twisted metal lamp and glass shade, two white bookshelves filled to the brim, a large modern desk so pristine in its organization I felt breathing on it would muss it up. There were other decorations, a few framed posters on the walls, and a pair of folding doors I assumed led into a closet. I noticed how large the room actually was, hell, it had a small second level inset into the floor and a window seat.

Over by the door, which I only turned to after pulling the covers up to my chin, were a pair of white armchairs – someone was sitting in one. Instead of scream – I remembered wasted Etta doing a lot of that – a wave of pure exhaustion washed through me, I closed my eyes, and sighed.

I was so tired, I was _so tired_. Of being scared of the Cullens, of thinking of plans, of throwing those plans into the dust when I inevitably freaked out and lost all my shit, of everything. It was so easy when it was all hypothetical, I'd felt cool as a cucumber, like I could take on this world and everything in it; I'd had all these plots and workarounds and little cheats, and the moment they mattered I forgot all about them, got lazy, panicked, got stupid. When was the last time I decided something with a roll of a die? After confronting Alice and Edward, fuck, I should've carried that thing with me everywhere, used it for everything, but I got... scared, somehow scared and cocky at the same time.

Edward couldn't read my mind, 98% sure of that one, but that didn't protect me from Alice! Sure, I hadn't told them I knew they were vampires, but I planned on it, eventually. I planned on a confrontation at some point, so she obviously saw it and obviously told them I knew. Not to mention, not calling the cops about a freaky boy watching me sleep – not telling my dad – was fucking weird, okay? Normal people would've called the cops, especially when said cops, cop, lived in their own goddamn home.

Normal people would've never moved back to Forks.

Normal people would've stayed dead.

Sheets still clutched in white-knuckled hands I opened my eyes and examined the Cullen who was staring so intently at me from across the room,"Hi Jasper."

* * *

He'd spent a good half of his life – his death, rather – as a soldier. Under Maria he used his ability to control and eventually dispose of the newborn vampires she used to win her wars, but that wasn't all he used it for. With practice, and he'd had decades of it, he was able to hook onto emotional signatures, track specific humans or vampires, watch them without watching them. It was survival.

He was so used to relying on his powers that to be in the dark, to be without them, was startling and unsettling and made sitting in a room with the probable cause all the more uncomfortable. Forget the fact they'd never spoken, forget even that Loretta's Swan's blood held no sway over him, a blind spot was a blind spot, was an itch he couldn't scratch and a weakness he couldn't stand. Jasper Whitlock read emotion like Edward read thoughts or Alice read the future, he depended on it perhaps a bit more than he should, more than his other senses, and with Loretta Swan that was nothing but a mistake.

He wasn't used to being surprised, no vampire was ever truly surprised by a human, but when the girl in Alice's bed shot up like a bullet he nearly jumped. If he had been listening to her heartbeat that wouldn't have happened, but the sound often made his thirst ratchet up in intensity so he spent most of his time trying to block it out, instead relying on minute flickers of emotion to monitor truth and lies and everything in between.

As shown mere seconds earlier, such tactics were useless in the face of Loretta Swan's oddity.

Keeping his eyes on her, Jasper let a few words escape his lips too low and too quick for human ears to pick up, "She's awake." Vampire hearing ensured everyone would catch his whisper.

Esme and Carlisle, he knew, were waiting in the hall by the stairs; they were so close the emotions of one seeped into and fed off the feelings of the other, and right then a spike of anticipation cut through the cloud of combined dread, confusion, worry, and curiosity. Congregated on the first floor were the rest of his coven, all stewing in their own distinct flavour of intrigue and concern.

Edward, of course, had an undercurrent of self-flagellation twisting up his insides, apparently finding a way to blame himself for their current predicament. Rose, on the other hand, was nearly past boiling over, her rage only overshadowed momentarily by a deep, trembling fear packed tense under her feet. Everyone held at least a small measure of annoyance towards Alice, and while the short vampire appeared to be taking it in stride Jasper felt the toll those glares were having on her. Though, if he was allowed a moment of honesty, he wasn't too pleased with her decisions either; how could a human knowing about them be a good thing?

"Let me talk to her first," Carlisle said, his voice just as soft. "We don't know what state she'll be in and overwhelming her will make everything more difficult."

Rosalie's scoff echoed through the house.

Jasper's attention was brought back to the human girl in his best friend's bed when that human let out a particularly emotive sigh. Then, instead of screaming or trying to run away – both being things Carlisle assured them happened multiple times in the woods, Loretta Swan stared him right in the eye and said hello. Again, he wasn't used to being shocked, but this human managed it twice in five minutes.

He felt Carlisle lingering just beyond the edge of the doorway, out of sight but certainly listening, and Jasper wondered exactly where this meeting would go. He knew Alice had been intrigued by the human for a long while, and now he was following in her footsteps; curiosity seemed to be everyone's vice – at least, everyone except Rosalie.

He met the human girl's eyes steadily, didn't blink, didn't even bother to breathe, but he did tilt his head in a small greeting. Carlisle said he should talk first and Jasper was going to let him.

Loretta Swan looked a little perturbed though she said nothing of it, just kept her grip tight in the blankets and stared him down in turn. That's when Carlisle rounded the corner into the room, a muted sigh of exasperation clinging to his mouth.

"Good morning, Miss Swan," he said, smiling, his hands clasped at the small of his back.

Jasper let his gaze track the nervous gulp as it travelled down the girl's throat, noticed her white knuckles relax against the deep purple comforter, caught the way her pinprick pupils dilated, and he strained his ability against the void she was, trying fruitlessly to understand. He could see the reactions just fine, but he'd never had to actually read them before – he'd always had his sense to tell him, to nudge him in the right direction.

Her tongue darted out to wet her chapped lips and she said, "Good morning... or, uh, is it really still morning?"

Carlisle made a show of checking his watch, a leather strapped thing he wore on his right wrist, "Ten twenty-seven. Yes, still morning."

Loretta Swan nodded slowly, "My dad, he, well, he's probably really worried about me, I mean, I told him I'd be home and..."

"We called him," said Carlisle, "He was upset, understandably so, when we told him we found you wandering the streets, but we convinced him it would be alright if you stayed overnight."

Another nod. "So that's what you said, huh," her voice was lilting, casual, "That you found me on the _road_ somewhere. You say I was drunk?"

Jasper stood, human speed, but she still darted her eyes across him at the movement. There wasn't really a reason for him to be there, if he were being honest. If his power worked, sure, he could keep the girl calm, pliable, susceptible to suggestion and honesty, but without it he was nothing more than set decoration. Carlisle apparently felt differently, for when Jasper made to leave he caught him gently by the arm and shook his head; another motion so small and so fast Loretta Swan would never notice. Jasper stayed, but didn't sit back down.

Managing to look disapproving, like the father he played and the coven leader he was, Carlisle replied, "Yes. He's expecting a call, actually, we said we'd have you phone once you woke up." She began to pat at her pockets, had one hand poised to shove the covers back, when he cleared his throat – in his left hand, held up so she could see, was her cell phone.

Jasper watched as Loretta Swan's face drained of the little colour it had, but she refused to falter. "Well, at least that means you won't kill me yet."

"We aren't going to hurt you, Miss Swan," Carlisle told her, "And we aren't going to keep you here against your will, we just want to ask you a few questions. Once we talk, you can make your call and be on your way."

She gulped again, "What kind of questions?"

"I think you know, Miss Swan."

"Is he here to keep me calm?" She asked, and gestured awkwardly to where Jasper stood at Carlisle's side, "Cos, y'know, he's not doing a very good job."

Silence, a pause, as the two vampires once again adjusted to one human girl uncovering their secrets. Alice's power, they knew she was aware of, but Jasper's too? What else? She knew their species, their abilities, what about their pasts? Was it only them? How much of anything, everything, did she know?

More importantly, it seemed Loretta Swan didn't know she nullified all their enhanced senses.

Jasper felt Carlisle's indecision as fog clouding the vampire's normally clear heart. He appreciated honesty, they all saw the value in it, but this was an opportunity. Loretta Swan had already revealed so much because she thought they knew and were after her, what else would she divulge if they kept her believing that?

In the end, it was Carlisle's decision, and Jasper couldn't find it in him to be surprised at what he chose.

"To be frank, yes, that is usually Jasper's role," Carlisle said, "However you seem to be singularly equipped to negate his influence."

She was quiet, eerily so, for a good while, before, "Are you telling me he can't feel my emotions?"

He nodded, and Jasper flicked his eyes to the side.

"Can – can Edward read my mind?"

"No, he cannot."

Another space filled with only Loretta Swan's shaky breath. "What about Alice?" She asked softly, waveringly, "Can she see my future?"

"No."

This was a blow. He saw it hit, too, saw it cave her rib cage in and steal the air from her lungs."I fucking outed myself, didn't I?" She choked.

It was kind of pitiful, her distraught realization that she'd brought this upon herself.

Carlisle thought so too. At least, he felt some measure of disbelieving sympathy. "I'm afraid so, Miss Swan," he said.

With every answer she'd deflated in fractions, but that was the last she could take. All her bravado, her bluster, was pushed out and what remained was a girl who looked so impossibly old. In the eyes, in the set of her mouth, as if years weighed on her the same way they weighed on each of Jasper's coven-mates. How did she make seventeen look so world-weary?

Carlisle's eyes were soft, understanding, and there was tempered steel beneath his tone as he continued, "I've been honest with you, Miss Swan. I can only hope you'll return the favour."

Her head moved up and down in short jerks – a nod, but only just, "Yeah."

"Do you mind if I sit?" Carlisle asked, waving to the chair Jasper had sat in earlier.

"No," her voice was whisper quiet, and a mirthless laugh crawled out of her throat, "It's your house."

"Yes, but courtesy can always be offered," he said, settling into the cushion, "Now, I know my children have a few questions they'd like to ask you later, but we'll start with mine."

Jasper took that moment to move towards the door. Slowly, as not to startle the human girl or make Carlisle think he was running away, just enough to convey how much he really did not care to be there. Carlisle nodded, a tiny movement Loretta Swan wouldn't see, and he took that as a dismissal.

Leaving the room in one smooth stride Jasper saw Esme leaning gently against the wall, hidden from both Carlisle and the human, glass of water in hand, listening to the exchange. She smiled softly and tilted her head, curiosity draped over her like a blanket, a question shone through her gaze – why was he leaving?

"I'm not needed," he said, barely a whisper.

Esme's amusement was a delicate halo brushing against his skin.

As Jasper descended the staircase his coven-mates, conversing in half breaths around the coffee table, fixed him with imploring looks. They heard everything, obviously, thanks to vampire senses, but there was still hope he could've broken through whatever supernatural wall Loretta Swan had built. He shook his head, and they all sank lower in their seats. Lowering himself into the empty space next to Rosalie, Jasper kept his attention on the conversation starting in Alice's room. Despite the soundproofing, the door was open – every word was clear as day.

* * *

I watched Jasper leave, my eyes wide and unblinking. Was I grey? I bet I was grey. My face, not my hair. My cheeks felt cold, like there was no blood in them; despite my tan I could still go dreadfully pale. I clenched and unclenched my fists.

Jasper was gone. It was only me and Carlisle, and an ocean of space between us that didn't feel nearly wide enough. His gold eyes – and they were gold, I was done trying to fool myself with words like amber or caramel – chips of some precious stone, unyielding even as his mouth smiled a minute, comforting smile.

He had his ankle crossed over his knee, was leaning back as he regarded me, and I noticed belatedly that his skin was almost an exact match to the colour of the upholstery. I saw the black plastic of my phone peeking out of his fingers, taunting me, letting me know I was trapped.

"Miss Swan," his voice like honey, sweet and smooth and curdling on the back of my tongue, "How do you know about us?"

I shifted to the edge of the bed, plush sheets drawing lightly against my legs, "You're not going to believe me..."

"If it's some sort of power-"

I cut him off, too quickly, "It's not."

"It's alright to be afraid," Carlisle said, and for fucks sake why did he look like he cared so much? "Enhancements, abilities, they're not easy to cope with, especially as a human. We can help you, if you let us."

"No, I'm not-" I struggled for the words, annoyed that there were tears prickling my eyes, "I don't have any power, okay? I just – I-" Why wasn't I lying? They were giving me an out, they had dropped it in my lap with a nice little bow. I could go along with their idea and say I... I don't know, say I could see the future like Alice or something. Why wasn't I doing that?

I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling and blinked away the wetness before looking back at the vampire, the one who was interrogating me as nicely has he could. He was young. Not really, not in actual age, but physically. How old was he when he was turned, twenty-three? I was near that, or older, when whatever it was happened to me, when my whole world had been remade and I'd had to start over.

The same thing happened to him, happened to all the Cullens. Not exactly, but in essence. They died and were reborn and could never go back to their old lives, could never see their loved ones again, could never un-know what they knew, what they saw, what they were.

I wanted somebody, anybody, to finally understand.

"Miss Swan?"

"I died." It came out stern, loud, heavy on my tongue. "I don't remember how, or why, or how old I was, but I died."

Carlisle sat. He didn't try to fill the space I left, didn't interject again with his own assumptions, he just sat there and looked at me with those awful, gorgeous eyes.

I breathed in shakily, "I woke up, after, and I was – I wasn't me, anymore. I was a baby. I had new eyes and new muscles and a voice that wouldn't make words. I couldn't tell anyone, no one would believe me if I tried..." Tears were pooling again; this time I didn't stop them. They spilled over down my cheeks as I stared at Carlisle, my lips trembling, my shoulders shaking.

He waited, patiently watching, though there was a crease forming between his brows. Whether it was more pitying concern or disbelief, I couldn't tell.

"And I was devastated, and scared, but Renee and Charlie were – are – good parents, they tried so hard," I said, "When their baby girl wouldn't cry or crawl they were so worried, they cried and fought, and I learned to be a kid for them, so they wouldn't cry or fight about me anymore; it wasn't their fault their baby was all fucked up.

"But I still remembered," I felt teardrops drip onto the backs of my hands, my chest all knotted up. "Not well, not as much as I should, but I did – I do." I was gasping, then, maybe panicking, maybe hyperventilating, but air wasn't coming in right. I slowed down my breathing, counted the seconds to calm myself down; all down my shoulders and spine was tense. "And, before this, in my first life, Before, there was this... woman."

Carlisle opened his mouth, but I barrelled right on over him.

"She wrote a story, a book – four books – about this stupid, boring bitch named Bella moving to Forks and nearly getting eaten by some broody, boring vampire because she smelled so damn good."

"Miss Swan..."

I was talking fast enough a human probably would've had comprehension problems, "And this vampire had a family, a family of sparkly, veggie-vamps with magic powers like mind-reading and future-seeing and emotion-feeling, and then broody-face and boring Bella fell in love and they went on a bunch of stupid, melodramatic detours on their way to getting married and-"

"Miss Swan," Carlisle was louder, this time. Not yelling, not even raising his voice, but like he was talking right in my ear. Again, I ignored him.

"-There was this weird pro-life agenda in the last two books and this baby fucking ate it's way out of Bella's goddamn uterus and-"

A hand was on my shoulder. My eyes focused again, taking me out of the weird haze I'd found myself in, and Esme was leaning over me with worry brushed over her face. "Take a few deep breaths, alright dear?" She said, and handed me a glass of water. "Small sips, then we can sort this out together."

I took the glass with both hands, not sure I wouldn't spill all over with how I was shaking, and forced myself to do as Esme said. The water soothed my scratchy throat, cooled the heat in my chest, washed the dry, old puke taste away. I watched Carlisle over his wife's shoulder. He was perturbed, it was obvious in the set of his jaw, the tilt of his mouth; I wondered if he believed me. Hell, I knew all the others were probably in the house, probably heard every word I spewed – I wondered if any of them believed me.

Esme sat down next to me on top of the covers and rubbed her hang up-and-down my back. Two sides of myself warred, then; one wanted to recoil, the other wanted to lean into to the touch and accept that reassurance she was offering.

"There, feeling better?" She asked.

I nodded, then gave into my more terrified half and scooted away from her. As I moved I noticed the knees of my jeans, the dirt stains from last night stark against the light denim, and my stomach churned, there was transfer smeared all over the bed. I'd gone and gotten some vampire's bed all dirty.

Carlisle had his elbows on his knees and leaned forward intently, "Are you saying you've been... reincarnated?"

Again, I nodded meekly.

"Well," he sighed, "This isn't exactly what we were expecting."

"You believe me?"

"Not really, no," he said, "The idea is pretty out there, and the idea that you know about us because of some book series is even more so."

Sticking my thumbnail into my mouth and chewing, I muttered, "I don't know how to convince you..."

Esme shot Carlisle a look, "We believe that you believe it, dear. We have a good eye for lies, even without our children's abilities."

I looked between them, "How else could you explain what I know?"

"I don't know," Carlisle admitted. He looked older, somehow, wearier.

"Tell us more about these books, first," Esme said, doing her best to look inviting and harmless, "Tell us what you think you know, and we'll go from there."

I didn't know what to say to that. Would that be a good idea? What about, I don't know, the timeline? Wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey, right? Carlisle still held my phone, and I remembered I still had to call my dad. "What about my dad?" I asked quietly. "Shouldn't I call him now?"

Carlisle nodded, "Yes, you should. Tell him we'll drive you home."

"I..." I started, "I know he won't be happy with me. Hell, he'll be pissed – really pissed. How are you gonna get the answers you want if I'm under house arrest?"

"Have you told anyone else about us?" He asked.

Shaking my head so violently my vision blurred, I was quick to deny it, "No, no! I haven't told anyone!"

"Then we can wait." He tossed me my phone and it landed soundly in my lap. "Call your father."

I gulped. Why did I bring that up? I didn't want to call him, honestly. Charlie-Dad was going to be angry, very angry, super-duper angry, especially if Carlisle had told him I was utterly wasted when he found me. With nervous fingers I flipped the phone open and pressed two, the speed-dial number for home. Esme and Carlisle were both watching me, unblinking.

Charlie-Dad picked up on the first ring and didn't let me get a word in edgewise before saying, low and flat, "Loretta Jane Swan, you are in so much trouble."

* * *

 **AN: Okay, there we go. Sorry this is so late. I do not have my life together, so, I'm a mess and I'm not good with schedules. We're getting to the point of the story where I really wish I'd done more than a rough plot outline before starting to post, ha. Anyway! Thank you so much to everyone who checked out the blog (lorettastwilight dot tumblr dot com) and sent asks and reviewed the last chapter, it means so much. Hope y'all are having a good March.**

 **Oh, also, would anyone be interested in a Harry Potter OC story? Or would you rather I just keep my focus on this? I've been getting some inspiration for an SI-as-Ginny story, and I'm wondering if anyone would be into that.**


	15. Chapter 15

The conversation between Miss Swan and her father went about as well as Carlisle expected – that is to say, not well at all. At least, not at the start.

As she talked into the phone, her words never rising or falling in whine or plead or cry, she slid from the bed and began to pace. It took a moment for him to notice she was doing it, actually, since she would take only a few steps to one side or another before rocking on her heels and repeating the motion. Very subdued, for a human. She took care – whether it was intentional on her part, Carlisle could only guess – not to stray to close towards him or Esme, keeping a good five feet of distance between her and them the entire time she walked.

The conversation was short, shorter than it might have been if Miss Swan had put in even a token protest to the tone her father was taking. She nodded and acquiesced and bit her lip, said "Yes Dad" and "Sorry Dad" in all the right places, took care to pitch her voice to a place just shy of regret; it was quite masterful, he had to admit. By the end of the five minute phone call Chief Swan was no longer grinding his teeth, was no longer spitting sharp shards of glass down the line, was calm enough to say "We'll talk more when you get home" and hang up gently.

Miss Swan sighed, eyes closed, then flipped her phone closed and stuffed it in the back pocket of her jeans. He shared a look with his best friend; one part impressed, two parts perturbed.

Esme was still sitting on the edge of the bed, the girl's water glass in her hands, more still than she normally would be in the presence of a human. A motion with her eyes, from him over to Miss Swan, and Carlisle caught the unasked question: _Are you just going to stand there?_

A minuscule tilt of his head: _What would you have me do?_

The human was looking at Alice's bed, carefully avoiding Esme with her gaze, when she said, "I, uh, I got dirt on the sheets."

"Don't worry about it, dear," Esme said as she stood, "Sheets can be washed."

Her face said she doubted it would be that easy, but she didn't protest.

Esme walked over to her side and hovered a hand over Miss Swan's lower back, motioning her forward. "Come now, Carlisle and I will drive you home."

Miss Swan jerked. It was clear she tried to stifle her reaction but it was difficult to fool vampire eyes; Carlisle caught it immediately. Leading the girl towards the door, Esme gave him another silent chide – his bedside manner was usually better, he knew, the situation was simply so out of his wheelhouse. He held Miss Swan's bag out to her and she pulled it into her chest, giving him a wide berth.

"Aren't they going to be mad?" She asked softly.

Esme was still ushering her along, "Who, dear?"

"Your kids." Miss Swan was at the top of the stairs when she looked over her shoulder, first to Esme and then to himself. "Won't they be mad you're just letting me go?"

"We never intended to keep you here," Carlisle explained, "It was pure coincidence I ran into you where I did."

"Yeah, but they've been... circling... for a while now."

He didn't know how to respond. The girl was right, of course, the younger members of his coven had let their curiosity get the better of them and were too obvious in their interest. From Alice's friendly overtures to Rosalie cornering her in the library to Edward crawling in through her bathroom window, there was little wonder Miss Swan had felt stalked and trapped – hunted.

"They won't be mad, dear," Esme said, and there were chips of flint in her eyes masked under her usual warmth, "They know you'll be coming back."

Miss Swan's own eyes widened slightly, and Carlisle saw a bit of perspiration break out on the girl's brow as she gulped. He hadn't thought Esme would make such a veiled threat, but he wasn't all that surprised – despite her inclination to mother, his friend was just a deadly as the rest of their kind.

Down in the living room he could hear the others talking in quick wisps of breath.

"We shouldn't let her go." Rosalie.

"It's not our decision, babe." Emmett.

Edward added, "They wouldn't disregard us out of hand. If we present a good argument we could convince them to-"

"She's scared, couldn't you hear it in her voice?" Alice cut in. "We can't kill her for that."

"Yes we can," Rosalie muttered.

Carlisle sighed. He wouldn't have a moment of peace, not if he made this decision without explaining his reasons.

Miss Swan paused on the staircase, her attention caught by his coven all sitting around the coffee table and staring at her. Without blinking or looking away, she continued on to the bottom step and, as her feet hit the hardwood, she stopped again. "Where are my shoes?" She choked out. She must have just realized she wasn't wearing them – hadn't had them when she woke up – but it was amusing it took her so long.

"They're over by the front door, see?" Esme said as she pointed towards the little foyer.

Miss Swan jolted again at the proximity, and Rosalie scoffed.

"Take her to the car," Carlisle whispered so only Esme could hear, "Wait for me there."

Her nod was feigned to look like a shift of her hair, but it still caught Miss Swan's attention. The girl's head swivelled on her neck like a ball in a joint, from him to Esme to the group in the living room. She gulped a second time.

"Come, dear," Esme nudged her towards the door, "We shouldn't keep your father waiting."

As the human clumsily pulled on her shoes, refusing to let go of her bag the entire time, Carlisle turned to face the rest of his family. He waited until Esme moved the girl outside and closed the door behind them before saying, "We're not going to hurt Miss Swan."

Rosalie clenched her fists, "How can you trust she won't say anything? How can you trust somebody won't believe her?"

Alice piped up, "I haven't Seen-"

"You can't See her, Alice!" Rosalie hissed, "Nothing works on her, nothing!"

Carlisle hmm-ed as a wave of calm fell over the room, "Thank you, Jasper."

Jasper said nothing, just settled further into his seat.

"We aren't going to hurt Miss Swan because we don't know what, exactly, she knows, and we can't afford to," he pinched the bridge of his nose in a rare show of consternation, " _alienate_ the Chief of Police, even in such a small town."

"We know she knows what we are," Edward's voice was hard, less angry than Rosalie's and more resigned, "Isn't that enough?"

"Chief Swan wouldn't know it was us," Emmett added, "We would offer our condolences, help with the search; she'd just be another teenage runaway. No one think to look at us."

"It's safer, for our family," Rosalie said, "If we simply-"

"Stop it." Alice's eyes were shining and, Carlisle knew, if she were still human tears would be falling. "We can't do that."

"Yes, we can," Rosalie was resolute, "I know you like her but that doesn't mean we can risk everything, especially when we're going in blind."

"We've done it before," said Emmett, "Remember Rochester?"

Alice shook her head, "That was different, he wouldn't have kept quiet no matter what we did."

"And we knew that because you Saw it," Rosalie bit out, "But you can't See Loretta, you can't know what she'll do."

"I can!" Alice cried.

Carlisle's head shot up and he fixed her with a sharp look, "I thought you said she was hidden from you?"

"She is, most of the time," she explained quietly, "But I get these hazy flashes. They're all faded but sometimes I can make her out, make out what she's doing, and I saw her with us."

"She's with us right now, is that what you mean?" Emmett asked.

Carlisle, however, was keeping an eye on just how stiff Edward had gone. No one else noticed.

Alice huffed, "No, I saw her _with_ us."

Moving his attention back to her, Carlisle crossed his arms lightly over his chest, "As a vampire?"

"I don't know."

"How do you not know?" Rosalie snapped. "If you don't know that, if you just Saw her and us, maybe what you Saw was us finally dealing with the problem."

"That wasn't it."

Everyone turned to Edward, Alice with relief, Rosalie with annoyance, and Emmett with confusion. Carlisle just wondered when his coven started keeping such big secrets from him. It was almost expected from Alice at times, but Edward used to keep him abreast of anything that could affect them so tremendously. What was it that was so dire, so important, they had stayed silent so long?

"I Read it from Alice's mind as she Saw it," said Edward, "It's why she saved Loretta from the car crash. The girl was with us. She was happy, we were happy; it looked like we loved her."

Carlisle felt a looming dread creep up behind him, something he hadn't felt since his days with the Volturi, as his eldest locked eyes with him and refused to look away.

"It looked like _you_ loved her."

* * *

I sat in the back of the Cullens' Mercedes – at least, I was pretty sure that's what it was, the logo on the steering wheel was my hint – and literally twiddled my thumbs. I did it slowly but it was still happening, mostly because I didn't want to do anything else to dirty the Cullens' stuff. First those sheets, but these leather seats? Fuck, even with my time-travelling cheat money I probably couldn't buy this thing.

There was a part of me that wondered if my bottle of vodka had been emptied out into their sink or something. My bag was still heavy enough, but the bottle was glass so... I didn't know, underage drinking just seemed like something these vamps would disapprove of. I resisted the urge to peek into my bag; I didn't want to have to explain myself.

Esme was in the driver's seat, her hand on the keys slotted into the ignition, staring unblinkingly at the house.

I'd stared too, when I'd first got into the car. The house was gorgeous. Sleek lines, dark panelling, an entire wall of windows, and a balcony jutting from the side; the thing was a dream home. I remembered, vaguely, that Esme was an interior designer – did her skills spread to exterior design as well? That same curious part of me wanted to ask, but I knew that would just be awkward. Hi, yes, I know all these things about you that you've never told me, mind answering some personal questions? No, definitely not.

I shoved my hands between my thighs to keep them still and bit my lip. Would Carlisle be coming out soon? I knew there had been conversations going on that I couldn't catch. A quick blur of Rosalie's lips, a sharp tilt to Esme's head – if they weren't vampires I would've ignored those things, but they were, and good old Stephanie Meyer said they often communicated at super speed. Were they discussing me in there? Was Carlisle having second thoughts about letting me go?

I looked to the car door: unlocked.

Just like back in the woods, I knew running was fruitless, futile, stupid, but at least I'd be doing something instead of placidly waiting for my own dismemberment.

Before I could wrench the door open and launch myself into the driveway, Esme turned to me and said, "Something came up, Carlisle won't be coming."

 _Something came up_? That was vague as hell! _Something_ like a call at the hospital or _something_ like being engrossed in plotting my eventual disappearance? I felt like I should reply, floundered for words, but she only smiled, then looked away and turned the key before I could think of anything.

The engine rolled over smoothly, a gentle purr rumbled underneath us, and the door locks engaged. Esme drove us down the winding driveway towards the street. Their house really was in the middle of nowhere, with towering trees surrounding the property and lining the lane to the road.

I kept my attention on Esme, on the side of her head and the luxurious curtain of caramel hair tucked behind her ear, and wondered how they were sure I'd keep my word. I would, I knew I would – I didn't want to risk retaliation. Yet, wouldn't it make more sense for them to keep me until I told them all I knew?

We pulled onto Main Street, hitting a pothole that jolted me in my seat, and I caught Esme's eyes in the rear view mirror. She smiled, a dazzling quirk of her lips that made my heart beat a little faster in my chest, then moved her focus back to the road. I jammed my fingernails between my teeth and turned away to stare at the blurry green whirling past the window, unable to push down the awkward feeling curdling in my stomach. I hardly ever drove without the radio blaring, so the complete silence in the fancy car was nearly suffocating me.

That nosy, curious part of me wanted to ask questions, but the part of me that actually thought things through tamped furiously down on the urge. If Esme was letting me sit in peace it was a good thing – don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I barely managed to keep myself from slapping a hand over my face as I remembered it was my own overthinking that outed me to them in the first place. If I had just kept my words to my motherfucking self in that forest I wouldn't be on their radar with my stupid vampire knowledge. Sure, they would've still been curious that I was resistant to their powers, but at least they wouldn't have thought me a threat! My molars clacked against each other as my nail slipped out from where I was gnawing furiously at it, the sound loud and jarring in the thick quiet of the Mercedes.

Esme turned onto my road and that curdling feeling bubbled up, transforming into a much more recognizable sense of dread at the thought of a disappointed parent. Jesus, Charlie-Dad was going to frown at me with those big ol' eyebrows and tell me stuff like he 'thought better of me' and 'was not proud of my choices' and all that. Even with a cumulative thirty-something years of life in me, I still couldn't handle shame well.

I didn't even bother to question how Esme knew exactly which house was mine. She backed into the driveway with a flourish I thought was a bit excessive and looked at me over her shoulder. "When you're able to talk, tell Alice. We'll have you over and figure all this out, alright?"

I nodded and, without breaking away from her golden gaze, fumbled with the door lock until it unlatched and I was able to exit the car.

As I headed up to my porch, bag clutched like a soothing blanket to my chest, I kept checking over my shoulder that Esme wasn't coming up behind me to drag me back. Logically, I knew she wouldn't, that it would be beyond stupid for her to attack me in front of my own home, but all the hair on the back of my neck was standing up and shudder was working down my spine. I was fucking nervous, both of what was behind and what was ahead. Before unlocking the door, I waved a timid goodbye to Esme.

I thought I saw her smile, but she didn't wave back.

As I stepped across the threshold I heard tires crunching over cracked pavement and, when I looked back to close the door behind me, the sleek Mercedes was already halfway down the street.

Door closed, bag still clung to, I kicked off my shoes. The house was too quiet – no TV sounds, no coffee maker sounds, no tinkering-with-fishing-rods sounds – and I could see the light from the kitchen shining into the hall.

Charlie-Dad was sitting in there, waiting for me to walk in and look at his disappointed face, he had to be – we didn't leave lights on when we weren't in the room.

I waited in front entrance for another minute to compose myself. God, I really didn't want to face him. He was right to be mad. I'd lied to him, I'd made him worry, I'd gone drinking illegally and stayed out too late and acted like the teenager I knew I wasn't. Worse than that, I was keeping more secrets. Vampires. He could never know, the Volturi would never suffer a human with that knowledge to live, but I wished I could tell him anyway. Worse still, I was going to spill my guts to a bunch of virtual strangers when I still hadn't told my family the truth about me. That I was reborn, that I was a grown-ass woman masquerading as their child.

Gulping back the guilt I felt, I inched slowly towards the kitchen. I rounded the corner even slower still and, yes, there he was, sitting at the table facing the doorway with a careful, expressionless look. I took one step into the room but didn't go fully in, pretending having half my body in the hall would protect me from reproach, and said, "Hi Dad."

* * *

It was hard being a single parent, Charlie Swan knew that. He'd had four years of it before Renee had gotten Loretta to move to Arizona, four years of assigning chores and scolding and making bagged lunches, but raising a seventeen year old was so different from raising a twelve year old it was laughable. He hadn't needed to be concerned about her staying out late partying and drinking and smoking when she was twelve, for one.

Loretta was their first – their only – child, so it took a few kindergarten play dates for Charlie and his ex-wife to realize that their baby girl was different from other kids her age. It was nothing too obvious, but it was there and it was consistent. Her vocabulary was too advanced, her sense of self so strict; he wasn't sure Renee ever noticed the way Loretta never had that guileless gleam of youth in her eyes.

He knew there was something special about his kid, something odd, but he didn't know how to bring it up without sounding delusional.

When he caught her, age two, muttering to herself in the dark of her room, he knew. When he got the call that she'd protected another child from a suspicious man, he knew. So many little things, insignificant things, that lay like puzzle pieces he couldn't quite force together.

Whatever it was, whatever strange explanation there was he couldn't even being to fathom, Charlie Swan would never stop loving his little girl. Even thought she was seventeen, nearly an adult in the eyes of the law, it felt like just yesterday he was holding her in his arms and promising to protect her from the world.

She stood in the doorway to the kitchen slouched around the bag in her arms, and Charlie frowned. Loretta had always followed the rules – house rules, school rules, rules of etiquette – so what changed? Had he just never caught her in a lie before?

"Come," Charlie said, biting the word out, and pointed to the chair across from him on the other side of the table. "Sit." He knew how he looked, knew his face was fixed into the scowl Loretta always called 'scary', but he couldn't help it, he was angry. More than that, he was worried – had been worried. When she answered her phone and spoke in those short sentences, her voice lacking the emotion she always exuded every waking moment, he had been worried.

When she hadn't come home, hadn't shown up for ten- fifteen- twenty minutes, he had been _afraid_.

He'd been half a second away from hopping into his cruiser to scour the streets when the phone rang. Oh, he was prepared to give her such a talking to, but it wasn't Loretta on the other end; it was Carlisle Cullen.

Shoulders still hiked up to her ears, Loretta sank into the chair like she wanted to disappear.

"First things first, you're grounded. For three weeks. That means you go to school and you come back home and you don't go anywhere else. That means no Spring Dance. That means no visiting Billy and Jacob next weekend."

She didn't argue, only nodded meekly.

"Secondly, I thought you were smarter than this," he went on, "Just days after a head injury and you're going to a party? Don't think I can't smell marijuana on you. I can only guess what you go up to. Drinking? Smoking?"

Still nothing.

Charlie sighed as some of the tension bled from his neck and jaw. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Loretta was quiet for a long minute and he could see her chewing the inside of her cheek. She looked as unsure as he felt. He didn't have a lot of practice giving parental speeches, having to put his foot down. Sure he was a cop, the Chief, but he'd never had such a problem with his own kid. Where did this reckless streak come from? Was this what Renee dealt with?

"I don't have an excuse, really. I was... I was feeling overwhelmed and I... I went. I'm sorry I lied."

He shook his head. "Just go to your room, alright?"

Her freckles stood out stark against her pallid face as she shuffled awkwardly to her feet. She broke eye contact, then, and stared at her feet. "I really am sorry, Dad," she mumbled. "I thought it would be harmless."

"We'll talk about it more when I get home tomorrow. Now, room."

Charlie Swan watched as his daughter acquiesced and left the kitchen. He heard her slow, awkward footsteps as she ascended the stairs and the muffled 'click' of her bedroom door as it closed. Then, slowly and with a breath that rattled in his chest, he put his head into his hands.

* * *

 **AN: Have it be known that I rarely know what I'm doing. Updates will probably continue to be once or twice a month. I'm working a lot more now to save up for school in the fall so I don't have as much time to write, which I am sorry about. I know some people really like the longer chapters, but I felt this was a good place to stop. Again, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and followed and favourited - getting those alerts make my day. I hope everyone had a good Easter weekend or Passover (if you celebrate either of those).**


	16. Chapter 16

Halfway through my punishment, Jake and Billy Black came down from La Push to watch the basketball game and have dinner. It was weird – I think Charlie-Dad would have tried to cook if I hadn't taken over for the good of us all. I actually sorted through a couple old cookbooks of Renee-Mom's that had been stored in the attic and found a recipe for lasagna I thought everyone would like.

Considering I was still grounded I figured Charlie-Dad would say I had to stay in my room the whole time, but when I thought he'd speak up about it he just watched me with sad eyes and stayed quiet.

Something had shifted between us when I lied, when I was so irresponsible, and I wasn't sure how long it would take to shift back. If it ever would, really.

It was five-thirty when Billy and Jake pulled into the driveway, and, like always, I was out like a shot to greet them.

"Jay-Jay!" I cried, clearing the ramp over the front steps in one jump. Thankfully, he was still about my height, still a little scrawny, still had his long hair; what triggered the wolf-splosion anyway? I knew it was the presence of vampires, but the Cullens had been in town for two years and Jake was still fine, so what? Was it something I could prevent? Should I?

Billy laughed as I tackled Jake, sending the boy stumbling back a few steps as I wrapped my arms around his middle.

"Where's the fire, Ed?" Jake asked, chuckling.

"I haven't seen you in like, a month and a half!" I pouted.

He ruffled my hair, and though I was annoyed I didn't snap at him like usual. Honestly, after my run-in with Carlisle in the woods I thought I'd never see them – or anyone else – again. He whistled. "You must really miss me, I got to touch your hair."

"Don't get used to it," I told him, and stuck out my tongue.

Charlie-Dad had followed me out at a much more sedate pace and was catching up with Billy. I waited for a lull in their conversation before extracting myself from Jake's hold, then I smoothed down my hair with both hands and went over to give Billy a hug as well.

All of us ambled into the house, the teasing rampant, and I felt at home. I couldn't imagine really _being_ Bella – being so indifferent to her dad and Jake and Billy, wishing to be _dead_ , not caring whether or not the people she'd spent years of her life with would mourn her. It was inconceivable, and I'd been reborn.

We had to pull up an extra chair from the basement for Jake to use, but we managed to make it work. I had the food set out on the kitchen table, and everyone served themselves before taking their plates to the living room to watch college boys dribble a ball around.

Billy and Dad were engrossed in the game, but did take the time to tell me they enjoyed the food during the commercial breaks. Jake was a bit less invested, more interested in in eating and nudging me with his foot whenever he noticed my attention drifting.

"You okay?" He asked me quietly, face half-stuffed with lasagna.

I nodded, scraped the last of the cheese and sauce onto my fork, and stuck it in my mouth to avoid talking. I wanted to enjoy this time with them – I was – I just couldn't push my eventual confrontation with the Cullens out of my mind.

Jake didn't buy my halfhearted reassurance. He gobbled down the remaining bite of lasagna then stood, jerking his head up in the direction of the stairs. He wanted to talk.

With I sigh, I rose as well.

Even though I tried to take his plate, he took mine and darted into the kitchen to put both sets of dishes in the sink before lightly taking my arm and leading me up to the second floor. Billy and Charlie-Dad didn't notice – or, if they did, they didn't care. Score for sports, distracting parents from their kids' actions.

"Okay, what's going on with you?" Jake asked, bouncing as he dropped down onto my bed.

* * *

Jacob Black was a lot of things. Nervous. Shy. A bit playful, yes, easily distracted, sure, but he wasn't stupid. Something was going on.

Ed had gone off to that party on the other end of town, got herself drunk and high and probably had a blast, and somehow ended up in the Cullens' house the next morning. God, when his dad heard that he'd almost lost it.

Billy Black didn't get angry easily, and when he did it was more stone cold irritation than red hot rage, but he'd hung up on Charlie and very nearly convinced Jake to drive all the way up there and pick her up. He knew his dad didn't like the Cullens, but that was excessive, wasn't it? They weren't bad people – hell, they'd picked up a stumbling girl on the side of the road and taken care of her when she was too out of it to find her way home, they couldn't be monsters. His dad had still called Charlie back later, once Ed was home, and asked to speak to her; Jake hadn't felt the least bit guilty eavesdropping on that conversation. It was five solid minutes of his dad asking some form of "Are you sure you're alright, Loretta?" and Ed responding "Yeah, Uncle Billy, really, I'm okay" over and over in a circle until Ed said something about dinner burning and hung up.

So, yeah, his dad was paranoid, that was nothing new.

What was new? Now Ed was acting like he had something to be paranoid about.

She had been quiet all night, not even paying attention to the game or himself or his dad, just pushing her food around her plate, a far away look in her eyes. So it was time for an intervention.

"What?" Ed laughed, forced it out through her teeth. "Nothing's going on, Jake."

He stared her down, leaning back against the headboard of her bed. "I know you better than that, Ed, you're going to have to try harder to lie to me."

"I'm not-" she paused, then she heaved a huge sigh and sat down next to him. She didn't look at him, just watched her hands as they smoothed out the wrinkles on her duvet. "I really can't tell you anything, Jay."

"Sounds like you just don't want to."

Her eyes were dark, brown glinting in the low lamp light as she met his gaze, and, not for the first time, Jake was struck by how intense she could be. "You're right, I don't."

"Why not?" He pushed. "It's obviously bothering you, Ed, let me help."

"You can't, alright? Even if I told you anything you still couldn't help."

"How do you know?"

Her face was like granite, lips pulled into a tight line. "Trust. Me."

"Was it that party?" Shit, had something happened? Fuck, _fuck_ , had somebody- "Ed, _Ed_ if something happened you need to tell somebody – your dad! – you can't let them get away with-"

"No!" She looked shocked that he'd even think something like that, face open and confused. "No, nothing like that Jay, don't worry, okay? It's nothing I can't handle. I'm just..." She sighed again, tucked her hair behind her ear. "I'm just a little anxious. It'll pass soon enough, I promise."

Neither one of them looked away.

* * *

Three weeks of house arrest hadn't been the worst punishment I faced. Sure, I had been thinking about going to the dance but there hadn't been any solid plans and, hey, there would still be prom. No, Charlie-Dad hadn't even limited my internet access or taken away my phone so, aside from the lingering guilt, I wasn't all that affected. I was more social in this life, true, but I would always be a bit of a recluse at heart.

Scrolling through the pictures on Jessica's MySpace page, I noted that the girls who had gone to the dance had all looked beautiful, outshining their dates with little effort. My mind wandered, then, as I studied the photos. MySpace was a mess. Facebook had just started up last year and hardly anyone I knew had an account, preferring the tacky, neon-riddled devil they knew over the one they didn't.

That would change, I scoffed softly. Social media, its intense upswing yet to come, kept making me nervous. How would vampires survive in the 2010s, when everyone had their face and their history and their business posted everywhere, all the time?

Not only that, but facial recognition security measures were in the works. Traffic and security cameras, fuck, how would they remain anonymous and hidden when the internet kept everything forever? Conspiracy theories about vampires had to exist, some humans somewhere had to have an inkling of some sort of the supernatural, and once technology advanced their secret would be blown wide open. It just wasn't realistic, to think immortal beings of pure perfection could continue their secret existence in a world of selfies and Instagram and YouTube – all it would take was a vampire stepping into the background of a shot, the background of multiple shots, a graduation photo, and maybe a human would recognize their long-lost classmate from 1976.

The red-eyed vampires – the people drinkers – they would probably last longer than the Cullens and their ilk, just by virtue of never socializing with humans unless those humans were slated to die.

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe the Cullens saw the way the tide was turning and had a brilliant plan... but what if they didn't?

A heavy sigh escaped me as I flipped open my phone. Whatever, why was I even letting herself be concerned about that? It wasn't my problem! I shouldn't care, not one bit, not one iota! Shoving my stupid concerns for that band of terrifying mythical beings out of my head, my eyes scanned the text I'd sent Alice for the hundredth time.

 _My grounding's over. When do you want me to come?_

Alice's reply?

 _Tomorrow._

My death warrant.

I had to stop thinking like that, it would give me heart problems. If they hadn't killed me yet, that meant they weren't going to, right? They were curious and angry I knew their secret – the secret I'd stupidly blabbed all over Carlisle in a drunken stupor – but hopefully not murderous.

As my computer shut down, the monitor making that old static noise as the light flickered out behind the glass, I plodded over to my bed and pulled the mattress up. My book of Twilight secrets lay on the box-spring, looking like the worlds most battered, most innocent notebook. I grabbed it and, without flipping through the pages as I normally did, shoved it deep down into my backpack. Who really cared how callous I'd been when I'd written it? They were big boys and girls, and throwing a book into their hands and running away would be easier than having to sit down and force the story out between chattering teeth.

Could it possibly be that easy?

A sharp kick and my bag was slumped against the wall, all hunched and flopped over – like how I felt. I collapsed down onto my bed and wiggled underneath the covers, not bothering to change out of my school clothes before reaching over and switching off the light. It was only six-thirty, but the earlier I went to bed the earlier I could get up, and then I could get my saga over and done with.

Paige would be back from Italy on Monday, I remembered, and I let myself imagine I might even be alive to welcome her home.

* * *

Saturday morning rolled around much faster than I realized I wanted. I talked big game about getting everything over with, but now that I was faced with the sun peaking out through grey morning clouds I knew I was full of shit. All I wanted was to climb back into bed and turn back the clock. Preferably all the way back to my first death, where I could make my case to _not_ be reborn and just drift away as nothing in the vastness of eternity. Though, I was lying about that, too. I was too scared of death, at least, most of the time.

God, my own thoughts were making my head hurt.

I showered, put my hair into a high ponytail, and winged my eyeliner out so far I wouldn't have looked out of place in an avant garde art exhibition. It was stupid, but it made me feel more confident. Paired with my only leather jacket and a pair of bright red Doc Martens I felt, short of donning a cloak of chain mail, as ready as I could ever be.

Careful not to wake my dad as I left the house, backpack on my back and town map in hand, I walked with heavy feet to my truck. Tossing my bag onto the floor under the passenger seat and leaving the map on the seat itself, folded open to the right page, I took a moment to do some calming breaths. The truck still smelled a bit like smoke, from Billy, and gasoline, and I found the mix comforting as I threw the stick to the reverse position and backed out of the driveway.

I had the Cullens' address circled in red ink on my map. Every so often I would glance down to make sure I was going the right way, missing Google Maps like burning. I definitely didn't want them to think I was bailing and have them come after me.

I didn't turn the radio on, though I considered it. No, the entire trip was the sort of sombre experience I needed silence to appreciate – also, I didn't want 2005 pop to be the montage music for my death march.

No, no I needed to think positive thoughts.

Right.

Fuck, fuck, I was almost there. Traffic was light – the only cars were heading in the opposite direction towards Port Angeles and Seattle – and for the first time I wished I could get stuck in a traffic jam. Or have an accident. Why did Alice push me out of the way, anyway? If that car crushed me half to death I wouldn't be in this mess to begin with. Maybe there's a vampire with the power to turn back time and they can fix that right up for me.

God, _God_ , I was turning onto the side-road and my knuckles were white on the steering wheel as I clutched it for dear life, and every horrible way a vampire could rip me apart with their bare hands was running through my mind.

A scenario flew past my eyes, where I told Charlie-Dad the truth and got him to pack up everything we owned and we drove far, far away from Forks, spent the rest of our days running away from the least conventional vegetarian family ever formed, but I couldn't even revel in that fantasy for a moment before reason broke through the haze.

First, he'd never even believe me; he'd sooner commit me to a psychiatric facility for treatment than flee the state with me. Second, well, even if Alice couldn't see my future, vampires could still track us by scent.

My eyes felt nearly glazed over and I blinked a smattering of tears away, then looked back out the windshield just in time to slam on the brakes inches away from the shiny Volvo in the Cullens' driveway. My chest fluttered anxiously and I gasped, the sound pathetic and wet. With surprisingly steady hands I shifted into park and pulled the keys out of the ignition, but kept the ring clenched tight in my fist – as if a key could be used as a weapon against a supernatural creature.

Then as if I wasn't on edge enough, there was a knock on the window beside my head.

I whipped around and was face to face with Emmett, his grin looking fake even to my human eyes.

He laughed, but it didn't sound real. "You comin' out?"

Nodding slightly, I grabbed my bag from the floor of the truck and pushed the door open.

* * *

Edward was all too glad to share his observations if you got on his nerves, so Emmett was well aware most humans thought he was loud, and intimidating, and a bit dull, but he was fine with that. He was a vampire; there were no truly _stupid_ vampires. So what if he preferred a straightforward fight to a game of strategy and wits? That didn't mean he was incapable of doing both.

Without a power that relied on manipulating other people, that _knew_ things about others' futures or emotions or thoughts, Emmett had developed a good sense of people just from being around them. He was going to suss her out.

Standing in-front of her – towering over her, really – he realized how afraid the girl was. She was good at hiding it, for a human, but he could see the beads of sweat on her hairline and the goosebumps on her skin and the shake of her hands. He was used to humans being at least a little afraid of him, just from his stature, but this was the most terrified he'd seen one since the last time he lost control.

It wasn't often he could honestly _smell_ the fear emanating from a human's pores, but Etta Swan reeked of it.

Part of him, the part that still wished for human blood on a daily basis, found it amusing; the other parts just thought it kind of sad. This girl – unlike most of the humans they came across – seemed fully aware of how helpless she was in their presence, how little she could fight if they decided to kill her. "You ready for the Spanish Inquisition?" He joked, ushering her up the steps towards the front door.

"Oh no," she said weakly and, God, her smile was so forced and wobbly Emmett's dead heart went out to her. "Now I'm expecting it."

He stopped, needing a millisecond to register what she said, and when it clicked he threw his head back and _laughed_. It wasn't all that funny, but the girl was trying. He found himself hoping they wouldn't have to kill her. "Just head on in," he said, grin still evident in his voice.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and it seemed like an involuntary movement – like she was searching for reassurance anywhere she could grasp – so he ignored it. Loretta Swan put her hand on the door handle, and before she could push the door fell ajar. Emmett heard her gulp. "It's like a haunted house," she whispered, pupils so dilated they completed eclipsed the chocolate brown of her irises. She hesitated on the threshold long enough Emmett thought he might have to pick her up and carry her inside; luckily, just as he began to consider it, she entered. Standing in the doorway, the human looked smaller than her height should allow.

"Go on, they're all in the living room."

Loretta went, slowly. She slipped her shoes off and lined them up on the mat next to the hall closet with one hand, her other clenched around the strap of her bag. Her fingers curled, then uncurled, then curled again – a nervous gesture. She stayed crouching, adjusting the position of her shoes with tiny movements, her shoulders hunched up awkwardly to her ears, her fingers just clenching and unclenching on the strap of her bag.

"Hurry up!" Rosalie snapped from the living room.

The human jumped violently, so violently her bag fell to the ground with a smack, and Emmett heard Rose snort incredulously.

"She's scared, so scared I can smell it," he whispered, too low and quick for Etta to catch. "She wants to leave – obviously – but she keeps trying to psych herself up. I don't think she'll try to lie."

"Thank you, Emmett," came Carlisle's subdued reply, words just as quiet.

Loretta had straightened up and was looking him right in the face. She was shaking, but her gaze was firm. "If you're going to talk about me can you at least let me hear it?"

"How'd you know?"

She fidgeted with her bag, which was back in place on her shoulder. "Your lips blur, and you look off to the side."

Emmett laughed, then steered her towards the rest of his family. "You're good."

"Not really," she said. "If I were good I wouldn't be here."

Well, he had to give her that one. She wasn't wrong.

He walked behind her, looking over her head to meet everyone's eyes. Alice, Rosalie, Edward, and Jasper were sitting on the couch, while Esme sat in one of the armchairs. Carlisle stood behind her, both hands resting lightly on the chair-back. If Emmett didn't know better, he would think his father had no worries at all. If he hadn't been there when Alice and Edward shared their revelation, when they collectively decided to keep it secret from the human, he would think it was just a normal family meeting.

There was a second chair and a space between Rose and Jasper on the couch, but none of them expected Loretta to voluntarily sit between two perfect predators.

Emmett knew his whole family heard the human's throat catch as she swallowed and, though he couldn't see her face, Rosalie's answering disdainful expression meant the girl was more obviously terrified than just seconds before.

Carlisle smiled – closed lips, baring their teeth always made humans uncomfortable – and motioned to the empty chair. "Please, Miss Swan, have a seat."

She didn't move.

"Sit down," Rose spat. If Carlisle hadn't made them all glut on animal blood before this Emmett was sure her eyes would be black with rage.

Carlisle shot her a chiding look. "Rosalie."

All the while, Loretta stood stalk still.

Emmett rolled his eyes good naturedly and clapped a hand on the human's shoulder, perhaps a bit too hard considering her violent flinch, then pushed her towards the designated spot. "C'mon girly," he said with a grin. "We don't bite."

* * *

I dropped into the chair like a stone, keeping my eyes on all the Cullens even as I maneuvered my bag off my shoulder and into my lap. It was almost kind, the way they'd set up the room. My back was to a corner, every vampire well within my view – not that it would help if they decided to kill me, but it gave me some comfort that I'd at least see the blur coming. Emmett was still watching me, that boyish smile on his face, and my next words were out before I could think better of it.

"Not even if I ask nicely?"

Then I realized how much effort they put into doing those little human motions – breathing, swallowing, blinking – because in less than a second they stopped everything, became cold marble statues watching me with contempt. I could feel something rumble in my chest, and it wasn't until I saw Rosalie's lips twist in anger that I knew she was growling, so low and so deep, nearly subsonic, it rattled my rib cage.

"Rosalie!" Esme didn't snap or yell, but her voice was forceful all the same.  
"She's mocking us," the blonde snarled. "She's probably already told all her stupid, human friends. The Volturi will be on us any day!"

I was cold and my feet were shaking in my shoes, but my best defence had always been a sarcastic offence. "You do know they'd kill me if they knew I know? Like, they'd drink all my blood and rip my head off, you know that, right?"

Rosalie fixed me with a chilling glare. "You have some sort of power, they would rather turn you and keep it for themselves."

"Rosalie, that is enough."

It took me a moment to realize that hard tone – like stone, unyielding – came from Carlisle. I watched the interaction with wide eyes, the way Rosalie sat straighter yet still looked cowed, how Carlisle managed to glare without furrowing his brow.

The minute I opened my mouth again, all the Cullens honed in on my face. "No, I shouldn't've joked – it was in bad, uh, taste... It's a defence mechanism, sorry."

"Yes, well, perhaps it would be best to get on with it," Carlisle said, managing to sound kind despite the dismissive edge to his words. "Miss Swan?"

"Right," I muttered, then fumbled with the zipper on my bag and pulled my notebook out. "Well, everything's in here-" I gestured with the book. "-should I give it to you, or, uh, read it out loud?"

"You have it all written down?" Edward asked softly, the rasp of his voice almost incredulous.

I didn't meet his eyes, instead fixating on my feet. "I started forgetting things," I explained. "I was three or four and it was getting harder to remember key details, so I had to."

"You thought you were reincarnated when you were three?" Esme asked.

"Yes."  
Emmett laughed. "And your first thought was that you were in a book, huh?"

"Emmett," Carlisle warned.

He held his hands up in surrender. "Just sayin', sounds ridiculous."

"Tch, you're right about that." Rosalie scoffed.

"Yes," I said firmly, and part of me wanted desperately to prove them all wrong, to prove I knew what I was saying. "Maybe not my _first_ thought, but close to, and even then I didn't really believe until kindergarten – and I met more people who fit the narrative – but I had a hunch. I didn't want to forget, just in-case I was right. And I was." I flipped through the notebook to the very first page and turned it around to show them. Everything was written in shaky crayon letters.

" _Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, Breaking Dawn_?" Jasper read aloud.

"The titles of the books."

Rosalie muttered something I couldn't hear and sneered.

No-one reacted to whatever it was, instead focusing on the pages I'd revealed.

It was insensitive of me, I knew that, but I didn't care anymore. All thought of leaving them to read on their own had vanished. I wanted to win. I wanted to get one over on them, because they had all the power and I needed my fair share Turning the book back to me, I kept flipping. "At first it was just little snippets that came to mind – that's the first few pages – but then I started putting it in order.

"First was the, uh, well, you guys – the characters," I explained, then showed them the corresponding page, this one written in jagged pencil strokes. "This is Edward's – he was a main one. Birth name, history, power, personality, all that stuff."

Even if they killed me now they'd never be able to forget they were just stories written down in some bloated YA novel, not after I'd shoved it in their faces.

Edward's face twitched as he read my callous notes. I figured he was especially focused on the part in his history section that read, _Ed's rebellious phase (1929? 1930?) - went off on his own to hunt humans, only killed abusers/rapists/scumbags/etc._ I kept my eyes darting between different spots on the Cullens', not meeting their eyes but not wanting to stare any longer at the floor.

"That's... quite thorough," Carlisle said, still going over the page.

"So you know everything?" Alice asked softly, looking like a deer in the headlights. "Everything about us and our lives, even before-"

Edward muttered, "There's no guarant-"

"So?" She hissed. "That's closer than I've ever come before."

I wasn't following. "What?"

Suddenly Alice was there in front of me, on her knees, clutching my hand in both of hers. "Loretta, do you know where I came from?"

Oh. I nodded slowly, painfully aware of the hard gazes of each of Alice's family members boring into my skin. "I... I have an idea. I'm not sure on everything..."

"Alice, you can't really think she knows," Rosalie hissed.

In a second I reacted. "You were born Mary Alice Brandon in Biloxi, Mississippi in the early 1900s. You were either nineteen or twenty when you were turned."

The silence was, as they say, deafening.

* * *

 **AN: Well... it's a been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about that - I don't really have any excuses you guys would care about, ha. Can't promise when the next chapter will be out, but I thought it was time for this one - I kept thinking it needed to be longer to be satisfying and that just made me wait longer, so... yeah.**

 **Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this story and sent reviews/followed/favourited. Hell, even the reviews telling me they don't like the story are ones I respect despite them making me feel bad lol; it's always good to have different opinions on my writing so I can maybe see flaws I never noticed before.**


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